PN 4251 
,B25 
1S72 
Copy 1 






n 

5" 



A BAKER'S DOZEN. 



5 7 E 




ORIGINAL- 
HUMOROUS DIALOGUES. 



PN 4251 
.B25 
1872 
Copy 1 



BY 



EORGE M. BAKER, 

" AMATEUR DRAMAS," "THE MIMIC STAGE," 
*' THE SOCIAL STAGE," ETC. 



-J 






SOSTON: 
LEE^ND SH^PARD. 
1873. ■ 



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Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, 

Br GEORGE M. BAKER, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



Stereotyped at *ie Boston Stereotype Foundry, 
No. 19 Spring Lone. 




The Thirteen Dialogues in this book were pub- 
lished in Oliver Optic's Magazine. Tliey have 
been revised by the author, and are issued in 
their present form for greater convenience. Tliey 
k be used for School Exhibitions or Private 
^matricals, on a platform, or with the acces- 
scenery and costumes. Some are t de- 
|/br very young folks, while others have 
erformed, with great success, by older 
in amateur theatricals. Tlieir length and 
of characters make them very desirable 
laughable after -pieces. 



— ^O^^S£4^<K 



<& 



COJfCTEJfQS. 



PAGE 

1. — THE THIEF OF TIME .7 

(For male characters only.) 

2. — THE HYPOCHONDRIAC 17 

(For male characters only.) 

3. — A PUBLIC BENEFACTOR 27 

(For male characters only.) 

4. — THE RUNAWAYS 39 

(For -male characters only.) 

5. — IGNORANCE IS BLISS. ...... 49 

(For male characters only.) 

6. —THE RIVAL POLITICIANS. 55 

(For male characters only!) 

7. — COALS OF FIRE 63 

(For male characters only.) 

8. — SANTA CLAUS' FROLICS. . . . . - . 79 

(A Christmas Entertainment for L4ttle Folks.) 

9. — A STITCH IN TIME SAVES NINE 85 

10. — THE RED CHIGNON 89 

(For female characters only.) 

II. — USING THE WEED 101 

(For female characters only.) 

12. — A LOVE OF A BONNET 113 

(For female characters only.) 

13. — A PRECIOUS PICKLE. . . . . .125 

(For female characters only.) 

(5) 



THE THIEF OF TIME. 



CHARACTERS. 



John Ray, y 

Charley Cheerful, > School-boys. 

Ralph Ready, ) 

Mr. Hanks, a Deaf Gentleman. 

John Clod, a Countryman. 

Patsy Flinn, an Irishman. 

Scene. — A Quiet Place in the Country. 

Enter Ralph Ready, r., with School-books. 
Ralph. Twenty minutes of nine. I can take it easy 
this morning. How glad I am I staid at home last 
night and studied " Spartacus." It's Declamation Day, 
and I want to win the highest mark. If I fail, it will 
not be for want of study. I believe I'm all right. 
{Declaims.) 

"Ye call me chief—"* 

Enter Charley Cheerful, l. 
Charley. {Clapping his hands.) Bravo! Bravo! 
Spartacus. " They do well to call you chief! " number 
one in arithmetic, history, and geography ; and to-day 
I've no doubt we shall call you number one in decla- 
mation. 

* The dialogue can be lengthened, if necessary, by allowing 
Charley and Ralph to declaim the whole of their pieces. 

7 



8 THE THIEF OF TIME. 

Balph. Ah, Charley, glad to see you. Are you all 
ready for the contest? 

Charley. Yes, Ralph. (Declaims.) 

" Again to the battle, Achaians ; 
Oar hearts bid the tyrants defiance." 

Balph. I see u a foeman worthy of my steel." Well, 
Charley, good luck to you. 

Charley. The same to you. I believe we are about 
equally matched. I want to take the highest mark, but 
if I am to be defeated, there's no one to whom I'd sooner 
surrender the " victor's laurels " than to you. 

Balph. And I can heartily say the same of you ; but 
we must both look out. John Ray told the boys yester- 
day he was bound to have the highest mark. 

Charley. I don't fear him. 

Balph. But he's a good declaimer, Charley. 

Charley. I'll acknowledge that ; but you know he's a 
terrible fellow for putting off study until the last moment. 
It was only yesterday morning Master Jones decided to 
have declamation to-day. The only time we had to pre- 
pare was yesterday noon, last night, and this morning. 

Balph. Time enough, Charley. 

Charley. Certainly. But I know John Ray hasn't 
employed it. Yesterday noon he went boating ; last 
night I'm afraid he visited Hopkins's melon patch ; and 
this morning I saw him from my window playing ball. 

Balph. Then we've not much to fear from him ; but 
here he is, puffing like a porpoise. 

Enter John Ray, l., with a book. 
John. Hallo, boys! what's the time? 



THE THIEF OP TIME. 9 

Charley. Eighteen minutes of nine. All ready for 
the declamation? 

John. Not yet ; there's time enough. 

Ralph. Time enough ! What have you selected ? 

John. u Tell's Address." I'm going to pitch into it 
now. I can do it in eighteen minutes. 

Charley. Why, you haven't left it till now? 

John. Of course I have. Time enough, I tell you. 
I've got a locomotive memory, you know. None of your 
slow coaches. I shall only have to read it over two or 
three times. 

Ralph. But why didn't you take it up before? 

John. What's the use ? I went boating yesterday ; 
and last night I went — somewhere else. 

Charley. Yes ! you took a melonoholy walk. Hey, 
John? 

John. What do } r ou mean by that? 

Charley. No matter. You'd better study Tell's Ad- 
dress, if you expect to be ready by nine o'clock. 

John. So I had. Well, you run along, and let me 
have this place to myself. It's a quiet place. So good 
by. I'll see you by nine o'clock, with Tell's Address 
perfect. 

Charley. Well, good luck to you. Come Ralph. 

Ralph. I say, Ray ; what's the proverb about " the 
thief of time"? 

John. Who do you call a thief ? 

Ralph. A slow coach, that will rob you of your 
laurels spite of your locomotive memory. Come along, 
Charley. \_Exeunt Charley and Ralph, r. 

John. Now, who told them I was after melons last 
night? (Opens hook.) " Tell's Address." Won't I 



10 THE THIEF OP TIME. 

astonish those lads ! What's the use of wasting time in 
study before it's needed? (Beads.) 

" Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again." 

Enter Mr. Hanks, l. 

Mr. Hanks. Look here, boy ; where's Mr. Simmons's 
house? 

John. O, bother ! Over by the mill. 

Mr. H. Hey? 

John. Over by the mill. 

Mr. H. Over that hill ? Good gracious ! You don't 
mean I've got to travel as far as that, do you, in the hot 
sun? 

John. No, no ; it's only a little ways. 

Mr. H. Only a little blaze ! It's an awful hot 
morning. 

John. O, dear ! this old fellow is as deaf as a post. 
( Very loud.) Mr. — Simmons — lives — down — by — 
the — mill. 

Mr. H. O, he does ! Why didn't you say so before? 
Down that way? (Points r.) 

John. (Loud.) Yes! To — the — right ! That — 
old — wooden — one — ahead ! 

Mr. H. Who do you call an old wooden head ? 

John. O, dear ! I never shall get that piece. You 
don't understand. I — said — wooden — house. 

Mr. H. Hey? 

John. O, dear! O, dear! (Points r.) That's — 
Mr. Simmons's — house — down — there ! 

Mr. H. O, yes. Thank you, thank you. I'm a little 
hard of hearing. 

John. I see you are. Suffering from a cold ? 



THE THIEF OP TIME. 11 

Mr. H. Hey? 

Jo hn. O, what a nuisance ! Is it — from a cold 
you — suffer ? 

Mr. H. Old buffer, indeed ! Be more respectful to 
your elders, young man ; more respectful. [Exit, r. 

John. I've got rid of him at last, and five minutes 
gone. O, dear ! (Beads.) 

" Ye crags and peaks, Fm with you once again ! " 

Enter Mr. Hanks, r. 

Mr. H. Did you say right or left ? 

John. Good gracious ! the man's back ! To — the 
right ! To the right ! Follow the stream. 

Mr. H. Hey? * . 

John. Follow — the — stream — as — it — flows. 

Mr. H. Follow my nose ! You're an impudent 
scamp ! I'll ask you no more questions. [Exit, r. 

John. I hope you won't. This comes of trying to do 
a good-natured act. 0, dear ! that address ! (Beads.) 

" Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again ! " 

Enter John Clod, l. 

Clod. I say, sonny ; yer hain't seen nothin' of a 
keow, have yer, here or hereabouts ? 

John. No, I haven't seen no cow. 

Clod. Well, don't git mad. It's plaguy strange 
where that are keow has travelled tew. Brand new 
keow dad brought hum from market yesterday. What 
on airth shall I do ? She's a brindle, short horns. Yeou 
hain't seen her ? 



12 THE THIEF OP TIME. 

John. No, I haven't seen her. I've seen no cows or 
cattle of any kind. It's no use stopping here. 

Clod. Well, I dunno what's to be did. Marm, she 
dropped her bakin', and scooted one way ; dad quit 
ploughin', and scooted another ; and I've been scootin' 
every wich way. Ain't heard a keow moo — mooing, 
have yer? 

John. I don't believe there's a cow within forty miles 
of here. 

Clod. Sho ! yer jokin' neow. Neow, see here ; I 
kinder think yeou dew know somethin' about that keow. 
Jest tell me where she is, and I don't mind ginning yer 
fo'pence. 

John. I tell you again, I know nothing about your 
cow. I'm studying my lesson ; and if you don't clear 
out and leave me in peace, I shall never get it. 

Clod. Sho! Well, I don't want to hender ye, but 
I should like to know what's become of that are 
keow. [Exit, r. 

John. Gone at last. Was ever a fellow so plagued ! 
I've only got eight minutes, and I must study. {Goes to 
back of stage, and walks up and down, studying.) 

Enter Patsy Flinn, l. 

Patsy. Begorra, it's a foine irrant I's on ony way. 
It's all along iv thim watthermillons, bad luck to 'em ! 
Shtping swately on my bid last night thinking uv the 
bould b'ys that fit, blid, and run away from Canady, I 
heerd a v'ice in the millon patch, " Here's a bouncer, 
b'ys." Faix, didn't I lept out uv that bid, and didn't I 
hurry on my clo'es, and didn't I take a big shtick, and 
didn't I run fur the patch, and didn't I find nobody? To 



THE THIEF OF TIME. 



13 



be sure I did ! So this morning, Mr. Hopkins sinds me 
to the school-house to find the b'ys that invadid the sa- 
cred retrait, which is the millon-patch. But how will I 
find thim? Begorra, I should know that v'ice ; and I'll 
make the whole school shtand up togither one by one and 
shout, " Here's a bouncer ! " that I will. 

John. {Coming down r. of stage.) Now let's see 
how much I know. (Declaims.) 

" Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again ! " 

Patsy. By my sowl, that's the v'ice of my dr'ams ! 

John. " I hold to you the hands you first beheld, 
To show they still are free." 

Patsy. Fray, is it, begorra ! Ye'll not hould thim 
long, me b'y ! 

John. " Methinks I hear 

A spirit in your echoes answer me." 

Patsy. Begorra, ye'll soon hear an Irish echo ax ye 
something else ! 

John. " And bid your tenant welcome to his home 
again ! " 

Patsy. Begorra, you're wilcome to no more water- 
millons, ye'll find ! 

John. " Ye guards of Liberty ! " 

Patsy. Ye little blackguard ! 

John. " I'm with you once again ! I hold my hands 
to you, 
To show they still are free ! " 

Patsy. Begorra, they're stained with watermillons, 
sure ! 

John. u I rush to you, 

As though I could embrace you ! " 

(Buns into Patsy's arms.) 



14 THE THIEF OF TIME. 

Patsy. Come on, I'm waiting for you ! O, you black- 
guard ! O, yes spalpeen ! I've got yes ! 

John. Who are you? What do you want? Let 
me go ! 

Patsy. Niver ! Ye must go along wid me, my fine 
lad ; there's a bill a waiting for you at farmer Hopkins's. 

John. Farmer Hopkins ! But I shall be late for 
school. 

Patsy. O, niver mind the school. You'll git a little 
uv it there, from a nice big cowhide. 

John. Let me go, I say ! 

Patsy. Quit your howling, and come along. 

John. I won't. Help ! Help ! Help ! 

Enter Charley and Ralph, r. 

Charley. What's the matter, Ray? 

Balph. Hallo, Patsy ! What's to pay now ? 

Patsy. A small bill for watermillons, Master Ralph. 

Balph. 0, I see ; you're found out, Ray ! 

John. Well, I wan't the only one in the patch last 
night. 

Balph. But you're the only one found out ; so you 
must take the consequences. 

Charley. Master Jones sent us to look for you ; it's 
five minutes after nine. 

John. O, dear, what's to become of me ! 

Balph. You must get to school at once. Patsy, I'll 
be answerable for John Ray's appearance at Farmer 
Hopkins's after school. Won't that do ? 

Patsy. To be sure it will. I can depind upon you, 
Master Ralph. But mind and cape an eye on that chap ; 
fur it's my opinion he's a little cracked ; he's bin ravin' 



THE THIEF OP TIME. 15 

about crags, and peaks, and liberty like a full-blooded 
Fenian. I'll go home and practise a bit wid that cow- 
hide. [Exit, l. 

Charley. Well, John, got your piece ? 

John. Got my piece? No. I've been bothered to 
death ! 

Balph. You've been keeping company with the " thief 
of time." 

John. I'd like to know what you mean by that. 

Ralph. I'll tell you. You should have studied your 
piece yesterday noon ; but, instead of that, you went 
boating. You should have studied last night ; but in- 
stead of that, you got into a scrape, which promises to 
make trouble for you ; and this morning you played ball 
instead of taking time for your work. 

John. Well, I meant to have studied it yesterday ; 
but I thought I had plenty of time. I wanted a little 
recreation. 

Charley. Yes, John ; but you should look out for the 
lessons first, and not neglect them. Come, let's go to 
school. 

John. And be at the foot of the class. I don't like 
this. 

Balph. You'll find a remedy for it in the copy-book. 

John. What is it? 

Ralph. A warning to the dilatory — " Procrastination 
is the thief of time." 

[Exeunt, r. 



THE HYPOCHONDRIAC. 



CHARACTERS. 



Squire Croupy, a Farmer. 

John and Josiah Croupt, his Sons. 

Zeke Cornstalk, ) 

„ n T > Farm Hands. 

Pat Mullen, > 

Scene. — Room in Squire Croupy' s House. Lounge, or 
Sofa, at back, c. Chairs, r. and l. Costumes rough 
and plain. 

Enter, r., John and Josiah Croupy. 

John. This is bad business, sir. 

Josiah. Bad ! I never was so provoked in my life ! 
Such a splendid haying day, and when we should all be 
in the field, dad must up and have one of his tantrums ! 

John. It is provoking, but then he cannot help being 
sick. 

Josiah. Sick ! He's as well as I am ; this is the third 
time he has set the house in an uproar, and the whole 
neighborhood in a commotion, by declaring he is dying. 
It's all nonsense ! His pulse is regular, his tongue clear, 
his face ruddy, and his lungs in excellent condition. 

Croupy. (Outside, very loud.) I tell you I'm going ! 
I tell you I'm going ! 

2 17 



18 THE HYPOCHONDRIAC. 

Josiah. Do you hear that? Does that sound like 
weak lungs? He's got what they call the "hypos"! 
That's what's the matter ! 

Enter Pat, r. 

Pat. Begorra ! it's kilt entirely is the squire ! and it's 
my opinion — my opinion, mind, that he can't live from 
one ind of the bid to the other. 

Josiah. Well, never mind your opinion ; you just run 
for Dr. Gridiey. 

Pat. To be sure I will. (Starts and returns.) Will 
I ax him, would he bring a stomach-pump? 

Josiah. No, no ; you'll ax him nothing ! Come ; 
hurry, hurry ! 

Pat. To be sure I will. (Starts and returns.) If he's 
not at home, what will I till him? 

Josiah. Tell him you're a donkey, with my com- 
pliments. 

Pat. " Till him you're a donkey, with my compli- 
ments." To be sure I will ; to be sure I will. [Exit, l. 

John. What's the use of sending for Dr. Gridiey? 
He'll only laugh at him. 

Josiah, I know it ; but if we don't send for him", dad 
will call us unfeeling. 

Enter Zeke, r. 

Zeke. Consarn it, boys, ain't we never going to git 
started? I've had them are cattle yoked more'n an 
hour. 

Josiah. Can't help it, Zeke ; dad's got another of his 
blue spells ; declares he's going to die right off. 

Zeke. No ! Well, that's bad ; right in the middle of 



THE HYPOCHONDRIAC. 19* 

haying, too ! Well, he is the most unlucky chap about 
getting up his dying days that ever I did see ! I .thought 
last night, when he was pilin' in cold pork and taters at 
such a smashin' rate, there'd be trouble in his insides 
afore mornin\ But 1 guess it ain't nothin' discouragin'. 
Gin him a blue pill, and he'll be all right. 

Josiah. Can't get him to take anythiDg ; he declares 
he's had a forerunner in the night that his time is come, 
and it's no use trying to cure him. 

Zeke. Forerunner? Well, I guess he has I The night- 
mare ! He's an old fusser ! I'd like to have the doc- 
torin' on him once ! 

Josiah. What would you do ? 

Zeke. Well, I'd scare him, so that he would indefi- 
nitely postpone his dying day, I reckon ! I tell you, 
boys, you don't get anxious enough about him. 

Josiah. Anxious ! Why, we've just sent for Dr. 
Gridley. 

Zeke. Pshaw ! he won't do no good, nohow. You 
want a leetle common sense here ; that's all. If the old 
gentleman thinks he's goin' to die, humor him, and 
kinder help him along. 

John. Help him along ! What, murder him ? 

Zeke. No, no ! kinder jine in with him, and make 
him believe you think he's going ! He won't be so anx- 
ious to go, I reckon. 

Josiah. But I don't understand you. 

Enter Pat, l. 

Pat. It's all up ! The doctor's gone to Boston, and 
won't be back till night. But I lift your message, sure. 
Josiah. That's very unfortunate. 



20 THE HYPOCHONDRIAC. 

Zeke. It's jest the thing ! You'll jest come with me. 
I'll find you a doctor, and we'll have the squire all right 
and tight in a jiffy ! Come along. 

[Exeunt Zeke and Josiah, l. 

John. Now, what's Zeke got in his head? 

Pat. Faix, I don't know ; but I mind he scratches it 
often. 

Croupy. (Outside, R.) John! Si! are you going to 
ileave me here to die alone? 

Enter Croupy, r. He is ivrapped in a large blanket, with 
a red night-cap on his head. 

Is this my reward, after all I've done for you, ungrate- 
ful scamps ! (Lies down on sofa.) O, dear, my head ! 
I'm going, I tell you ! You won't see your poor old 
father no more ! 

John. Be easy, father ; the doctor will soon be here. 

Pat. Be aisy, squire ; the doctor '11 put you out of 
your misery to-morrow. 

Croupy. Easy ! How can you talk so, when you 
know I'm going from you ! I tell you I had a forerunner 
last night. I distinctly saw a white horse standing in 
front of our house ! 

John. So did I. It was Zeke Cornstalk's Brimstone. 

Croupy. 0, how can you trifle with the feelings of a 
dying man ! O, my back ! I tell you it was a fore- 
runner. 

Pat. Faith, it was the coach from Cranberry jist ; 
that's a four-runner. 

Croupy. Shut up, you heathen ! O, my head, my 
head! 



THE HYPOCHONDRIAC. ' 21 



, Enter Josiah, l. 

Josiah. Now, father, we'll soon have you all right. 
I've found a new doctor. 

Croupy. All right. Plow can you be so unfeeling ! 
O, my side ! I tell you, I'm going fast ! My sands of 
life are nearly run out ! 

Pat. Begorra, they be mighty quick sands ! But no 
matter. You'll soon reach hard ground, and rist aisy ! 

Croupy. Shut up, Pat, or I'll break every bone in 
your body. 

Pat. How weak and fable he is, to be sure ! 

Enter Zeke, l., disguised; green spectacles, a broad- 
brimmed hat, and long linen coat, buttoned up to his 
chin. 

Zeke. Plow are you all to-day? Don't rise. I'm Dr. 
Killumquick, M. D., Medical Doctor ; Deploma in Latin ; 
Tempus Fugit, Mult um in Parvo, E Pluribus Unum, 
Erin go Bragh ! 

Pat. Arrah ! " My countryman, and yet I know him 
not." The top of the morning — 

Croupy. Shut up, you confounded nuisance ! O, my 
head ! My back ! O, my sides ! 

Zeke. We'll fix you all right ! I'm the man for your 
money. Give me your hand. Gracious, what a pulse ! 
Forty, fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty, one hundred, one hun- 
dred and twenty ! Bad case ! Bad case ! 

Croupy. You don't say so ! 

Zeke. Silence ! Don't speak ! Don't move ! Let 
me see your tongue. Gracious, what a tongue ! Bad 
case ! 



22 . THE HYPOCHONDRIAC. 

Croupy. You don't mean it ! 

Zeke. Shut up ! Let me see your face. Turn it this 
way. Look at that nose ! Gracious, what a nose ! It's 
no use ! Your minutes are numbered ! In ten you'll be 
a dead man ! 

Croupy. You don't say so ! O, dear. 

Josiah. You're not serious, doctor? 

Zeke. Serious ! Do you dare insult me ! Is this the 
time to trifle when a human being is standing on the 
verge of the grave ! Look at that nose ! It has the true 
signs of porkopavia ! 

Pat. Porkopavia, is it ! Faith, I thought it was the 
true sign of whiskey ! 

Zeke. If you have any parting words to give that old 
man, be quick ; for in ten minutes you will be orphans ! 

Josiah. Is it possible ! 

John. I caonot realize it ! 

Pat. Faix, nor I. Will I be an orphan too — d'ye 
think ? 

Zeke. {Draws Josiah and John down front.) There, 
I've done my part. Do yours as well, and you'll hear 
no more of dying ! [Exit, L. 

Josiah. (Taking out his handkerchief.) John ! 

John. (Taking out his handkerchief.) Si! 

Josiah. I never — expected — to see this — day ! 
(B lotos his no se.) 

John. No more - — did I ! (Blows his nose.) 

Pat. ( Takes out his ragged handkerchief, looks at each 
of- them, then hlows his nose violently.) It's a tirrible 
blow, sure ! 

Josiah. He was a kind father. (More handkerchief 
business.) 



THE HYPOCHONDRIAC. 23 

John. So liberal, so indulgent, so fond of us ! (Ditto.) 

Pat. And so fond of parates ! (Ditto.) O, musha, 
musha ! O, dear ! (Croupy raises his head and shakes 
his fist at Pat.) 

Josiah. Well, I suppose we must make the best of it. 
He shall have a handsome funeral. 

John. Yes, indeed, he shall — a dozen carriages at 
least. 

Pat. And a hearse. Don't forget the hearse, boys ; 
for the ould gintleman was very fond of riding by 
himself. 

Josiah. John, did lawyer Sneak make a will for him ? 

John. I think not, Si. 

Pat. Ov coorse not ; the squire had a will ov his own. 

John. No, he told me all the property was to be 
equally divided between you and me. 

Josiah. How considerate ! Well, John, you shall 
have the meadow near the stream, and I'll take the field 
that runs to the foot of the hill. (Croupy groans.) 

John. Poor old man, he's going fast. That's very 
fair, Si ; and as you're going to be married, you may 
keep this house, and I'll take the store at the Corner. 
(Croupy groans.) 

Pat. That's satisfactory. The ould gintleman says 
yis. 

Josiah. And there's the cattle : there'll be no trouble 
about dividing them. Then there's the horses ; no trouble 
about them, only give me the brown mare " Jessie," and 
I'll be quite satisfied. (Croupy groans.) 

Pat. That was the ould gintleman's favorite. He 
don't quite like that. 

John. No, no. Father said I was to have that. 



24 THE HYPOCHONDRIAC. 

Josiah. What's father got to say about it, any way? 
I'm the eldest, and I'm going to have Jessie. 

John. Then you'll have to fight me ; for if there is 
any law in the state, I'll have her. 

Pat. Aisy, b'ys ; don't disturb the ould gintleman. 

Josiah. John Croupy, I'll have Jessie, if I have to 
sell everything to fight you. She is mine by right. 

John. It's no such thing. Father intended her for 
me, and mine she shall be. (Croupy sits up.) 

Enter Zeke, l. 

Zehe. Hallo, boys ! what's the matter? 

Pat. Faith, only a wee bit of a shindy ! It's all about 
the brown mare Jessie. 

Josiah. Which belongs to me. 

John. No, sir ; to me. 

Zeke. O, pshaw ! quarrelling about that little " Jes- 
sie " ! Why, she's a slow coach, any way ! 

Josiah. She's the fastest trotter in the place, and you 
know it. 

Zeke. I don't know any such thing ! Why, my Brim- 
stone can beat her on a five-mile stretch all to pieces ! 

Josiah. He can't do it. 

John. No, sir ; the horse can't be found that can beat 
our Jessie. 

Zeke. P'r'aps it can't ! Fr'aps it can't! But I'll 
bet you four barrels of Baldwins ag'in a barrel of the old 
man's cider he'll do it easy. (Croupy jumps up, very 
excited.) 

Croupy. Take him up, Si ; take him up ! Don't be 
skeered ! I'll stand the cider ! 

Josiah. Why, father — 



THE HYPOCHONDRIAC. 25 

John. Good gracious ! 

Pat. Bedad, here's an eruption ! 

Zeke. Why. squire, they told me you were dying ! 

Josiah. Lie down instantly, father ! the doctor has 
given you up ! 

Pat. Lie down, squire, and die like a gintleman ! 

Groupy. I shan't do anything of the kind. Zeke 
Cornstalk, if you want to bet that Brimstone ag'in my 
Jessie, come on ! 

Josiah. Father, you're in no condition to drive ; you 
are very sick. 

Groupy. No, I ain't. Do you suppose I'm going to 
lie there while you're dividin' my property ? Not a bit 
of it ! I'm going to stop round here, and look after 
things a bit longer ; and if anybody objects, just speak 
out. 

Josiah. What will Dr. Killumquick say? 

Zeke. He'll say the squire is about right ; for I am 
Dr. Killumquick ! 

Groupy. You Dr. Killumquick? 

Zeke. Yes ; if you don't believe it, look at my di- 
ploma in Latin. Tempus fugit, multum in parvo — 

Groupy. Stop ! You've been fooling me among you. 

Pat. That's true for you, squire ; but it's tit for tat ; 
for you've given us a great disapp'intment by your own 
tomfoolery. 

Groupy. And so you are Dr. Killumquick? Well, 
you've given me an awful scare, and, I rather think, 
cured me of any desire to try it on again. 

Zeke. I hope you won't, squire ; for it's not a part of 
our life that needs rehearsing. " Keep a stiff upper lip, 
and never say die." That's a good motto. 



28 THE HYPOCHONDRIAC. 

Croupy. First rate, Zeke ; and I'll try and live up 
to it. 

Josiah. That's right, father ; and now let's get to the 
field ; and after work to-night, you and Zeke shall try 
the paces of Brimstone and Jessie. 

Croupy. I'm ready for him. Jessie's the girl for me ! 

Pat. I say, squire, the nightmare was a little too 
much for you last night ! 

Croupy. I believe it was, Pat. 

Pat. Then here's hopin' that between the nightmare 
and the brown mare, you'll prove the brown mare to be 
the bist horse ; and that you'll live foriver, to show the 
world you can die like a gintleman ! 



"A PUBLIC BENEFACTOR." 



CHARACTERS. 



Erastus Steele, a Merchant. 

Harry, his Son. * 

Solomon Longface, an Impostor. 

Cyrus Caucus, a Countryman. 

Bobby Simson, a lubberly Boy. 

Barney Hoolan, a Laborer. 

Scene. — Mr. Steele's office. Desk and Chairs. 

[Enter Steele, l., with a newspaper 7\ 

Steele. Ah, this is glorious ! This is indeed fame ! 
(Beads.) — " A Public Benefactor. — It is with emotions 
of pride that we chronicle the fact that our esteemed 
fellow-citizen, Erastus Steele, Esq., has in the most gen- 
erous manner presented to the managers of the ' Home 
for Decayed Punsters' the sum of one thousand dollars. 
Mr. Steele is a gentleman of princely fortune, who, by 
this act, has demonstrated that his heart is ever open to 
the calls of the needy." Ah, it is* grand to be thus ap- 
preciated by the world. . After thirty years' work, hard 
w r ork, during which I have had " Miser," " Skinflint," 
' ' Grinder of the Poor," and other equally pleasant epithets, 
applied to my humble name, by a stroke of the pen and 

27 



28 A PUBLIC BENEFACTOR. 

the gift of a thousand dollars, I am placed upon the 
pinnacle of fame beside the great ones of the earth, and 
pronounced " a public benefactor." 

[Enter Harry, l.] 

Harry. A public humbug ! 

Steele. What's that? How dare you, young scape- 
grace, speak thus of your father? Where's the respect 
due me? 

Harry. If I have been wanting in respect, I beg your 
pardon ; but when I see my father making a donkey of 
himself — 

Steele. What ! what ! Come, sir ; first you call me 
a humbug, and then a donkey. I won't have it. 

Harry. Very well, sir ; then I will call you " a public 
martyr ; " for such, if I am not much mistaken, you will 
soon find yourself. Listen to me one moment. You 
have just been performing a charitable act. 

Steele. What if I have? It isn't the first I have 
done — is it? 

Harry. No, indeed ; it is not. I could give you a 
long record of noble acts, quietly, unostentatiously per- 
formed by you, and for which I truly honor you ; but 
this last act is the most foolish thing you ever did in 
your life. 

Steele. Is not the obj ect worthy ? 

Harry. I suppose it is. 

Steele. Then of what do you complain? Are you 
afraid you will not have enough when I am gone ? 

Harry. Nothing of the sort. It is this foolish display 
in the papers of which I complain. You have simply 
advertised yourself as u a public benefactor ; " and if you 



A PUBLIC BENEFACTOR. 29 

do not do a large business in consequence, I am greatly 
mistaken. 

Steele. Large business? What do you mean? 

Harry. There are scores of individuals who make it 
their business to see that such " a public benefactor " as 
you have now become shall not want for objects of char- 
ity. You have opened a u Pandora's box," and let loose 
all the bores and plagues of modern civilization. It 
would be a waste of time for me to attempt to explain. 
I have no doubt you will soon have ocular proof that I 
am right. Here, for instance, is at least three times the 
usual amount of our morning mail ; at least two thirds 
are begging letters, called forth by your new advertise- 
ment. My dear father, be charitable ; do all the good 
you can with your money, but, as you value your peace 
of mind, never let it appear in the newspapers. [_Exit, r. 

Steele. Why, that boy's crazy — stark, staring mad ! 
Not let it get into the papers ? Why, that's the cream 
of it ! I like it. I glory in the appellation of " a public 
benefacfor." (Sits at desk.) 

\_Enter, l., Longface, dressed in a rusty suit of black, 
white neckerchief, black hat, with weed on it, black cotton 
gloves. Approaches Steele with outstretched hand.~\ 

Longface. My dear brother Steele ! My noble friend ! 
Let me clasp that munificent hand ! 

Steele. (Takes no notice of the hand.) Who in thun- 
der are you ? 

Longface. I have just heard of your noble charity, 
and I flew to grasp your baud. Do let me clasp that 
noble hand. In behalf of suffering humanity — in be- 
half — in behalf of the noble workers for that same 



30 A PUBLIC BENEFACTOR. 

humanity — in behalf of the down-trodden — in behalf 
of — of — do let me clasp that noble hand. 

Steele. Look here ; I don't know who you are, nor 
do I care ; but if you put that black paw of yours in my 
face again, I'll knock you down. 

Long face. My dear brother — 

Steele. I'm not your brother ; never heard of you 
before. What do you w^ant? What's your name? 

Long/ace. Solomon Longface is my name. I am a 
humble worker among the down-trodden and the op- 
pressed. 

Steele. Well, I'm not down-trodden, but I'm very 
much oppressed by your visit. What do you want of me ? 

Longface. To thank you for your blessed act of char- 
ity ; so kind, so liberal — to clasp your noble — 

Steele. No, you don't ; hands off. I'm very much 
obliged to you for your good opinion ; and as I'm busy, 
w 7 hy, good day. 

Longface. One moment, my dear brother. I — that 
is — this is a subject that I feel great hesitation in 
approaching. 

Steele. Then keep away from it. 

Longface. I must call your attention to the field of 
usefulness in which I am at present engaged, u The 
Bridget Society, for furnishing clothes-lines and pins to 
distressed washer-women." 

Steele. Well, what of it? 

Longface. You are " a public benefactor." Here is 
an object you can benefit. Think of drying the tears of 
five hundred distressed fellow-beings ! 

Steele. Drying their tears ! I thought your object 
was to dry their clothes. 



A PUBLIC BENEFACTOR. 31 

Longface. My dear brother Steele, you delight in 
doing good. Your autograph — 

Steele. O, ho ! My autograph ! That's what you 
want ! Why didn't you say so before? 

Longface. Your autograph to a check for one thousand 
dollars would greatly benefit our struggling society. 

Steele. Make their lines fall in pleasant places, and 
set them on their pins. 

Longface. Indeed, indeed it would ! 

Steele. My dear brother Longface, it may be so, but 
I don't see it. 

Longface. Perhaps I have set it a leetle high. Say 
five hundred — 

Steele. No, sir. 

ZiOngface. One hundred, for present emergencies. 

Steele. I'll see you and your five hundred washer- 
women skewered on their own clothes-lines before I'll 
give you a dollar. 

Longface. But consider, dear brother — 

Steele. Dear bother, I have. You are an insufferable 
bore ; and if you are not out of my office in three min- 
utes, I'll hand you over to an officer as a swindler. 

Longface. Have I been mistaken? "<A public bene- 
factor " you ? Why, you mean old skinflint, I believe you 
paid for that puff in the newspaper. But I'll expose you. 
Public benefactor ! Bah ! Public old humbug ! [Exit, l. 

Steele. Clear out! You show your face here again, 
and I'll break every bone in your ugly old carcass ! 
Here's a scene ! commencing w T ith " my dear brother," 
and ending with "public old humbug"! That man is 
an impostor. Harry was right ; but I'll see no more of 
them. {Goes to desk.) 



32 A PUBLIC BENEFACTOR. 

Enter Cyrus Caucus, l., roughly dressed. 

Cyrus. Why, 'Rastus Steele, heow dew yeou dew? 
Heow dew yeou dew? 

Steele. You have the advantage of me. 

Gyrus. Wal, that's a good one ! Why, bless yeou, I 
never took advantage of a man in my life ! Never, by 
jingo ! Yeou don't seem to recollect me — dew yeou? 

Steele. I confess I do not. 

Gyrus. Yeou don't say so ! Why, I thought yeou'd 
know me the minute yeou sot yeour eyes onto me. I'm 
from Skilletville. 

Steele. Ah, indeed ! The town in which I was born. 

Cyrus. Yaas ; good old Skilletville. It's some pun- 
kins of a place tew, I tell yeou ; and, 'Rastus Steele^up 
there they're mighty preoud of yeou ! Jest think of it : 
the lee tie, ragged, dirty-faced boy, that used to drive 
keows in Skilletville, has turned out " a public benefac- 
tor." Hooray ! 

Steele. O, you've heard of it ! 

Gyrus. Heerd of it? Wal, I guess we hev. Wasn't 
there a commotion in teown meeting last night when I 
read that little notice in the paper ! Sech a yellin' and a 
shoutin' yer never did see ! Old Squire Green, he made 
a speech. Deacon Weatherspoon, he shouted glory ! 
and that darned old woman, Betty Smithers, who'd no 
business in teown meeting anyhow, she yelled " Amen," 
at the top of her voice. 

Steele. Ah, it is gratifying to be remembered by old 
associates. 

Cyrus. I guess it is ; but I've got something more 
gratifying than that. Yeou see, we want a new ingine- 



A PUBLIC BENEFACTOR. 33 

house bad ; and where the money was a comin' from we 
didn't know ; but when we saw that notice, Joe Smithers 
he jest shouted " Euriky ! " 

Steele. " Euriky " ? What does that mean? 

Cyrus. Wal, it's some kind of Greek or Hebrew, I 
guess, and means, u I see it," or " I've got it," or some- 
thing of that kind. So, says Joe, there's 'Rastus Steele 
has got -rich ; he's a P. B., which means a public bene- 
factor. He'll help us, and I move that Cyrus Caucus be 
a committee of the hull to go and see 'Rastus Steele, and 
ask him for a thousand dollars. So I took the fust train, 
and here I am. 

Steele. And you want me to give you one thousand 
dollars to build an engine-house. 

Cyrus. Yes ; for which yeou will receive the ever- 
lasting blessings of Skilletville. 

Steele. I'll see Skilletville burned before I give a 
dollar. 

Cyrus. Yeou don't say so 1 

Steele. I certainly do say it, and I mean it. There 
are a dozen men in Skilletville just as able to give as I. 
Go to them. 

Cyrus. And yeou won't — Wall, I never would hev 
believed that a son of old Skillet — 

Steele. Mr. Caucus, when I left Skilletville, I hadn't 
a friend in the place. Your selectmen gave me my 
choice to leave town or go to the poorhouse ; and if ever 
I set foot in it again, I hope — 

Cyrus. Neow don't swear, 'Rastus; make it five 
hundred, and I'll be satisfied. 

Steele. No. 

Cyrus. One hundred — 
3 



34 A PUBLIC BENEFACTOR. 

Steele. No, no, no ! 

Cyrus. Wall, say, then, give us a new bell for our 
church — won't yeou ? 

Steele. Not a dollar ! Not a bell, not even a rope, — 
unless you want to haog yourself. 

Cyrus. And yeou call yeourself a public benefactor ! 
Wal, I never ! 'Rastus Steele, yeou're a mean old cuss ! 
Yeou'll want yeour effigy set up in Skilletville one of these 
days ; and I advise yeou to hev it, only be sure and label 
it a darned mean old public humbug ! [Exit, l. 

Steele. Now that man's mad, I suppose ; and if he 
ain't, I am. I wish those confounded papers had been 
burned before they stuck me into them ! 

Enter Bobby, l. 

Well, what do you want? 

Bobby. Be you Mr. Steele? 

Steele. Yes ; my name is Steele. 

Bobby. Erastus Steele? 

Steele. Yes ; Erastus Steele. What do you want? 

Bobby. Be you the man wot had his name in the 
paper yesterday? 

Steele. Yes, yes ! What do you want? 

Bobby. Want to look at you. My mother always tells 
me to take a good look at great men. 

Steele. Indeed ! What is your name? 

Bobby. Well, yesterday it was Bobby Simson, but I 
had it changed ; and to-day it's Bobby Erastus Steele 
Simson. 

Steele. Had it changed — what for? 

Bobby. Well, you see, my mother, she's a widow lady, 
without any husband ; and I'm her orphan child, without 



A PUBLIC BENEFACTOR. 35 

any father ; and she reads the papers ; and she read how 
as you were a public benefactor ; and she thought if I 
was named after you, you would be pleased, and do some- 
thing for me ; and so she changed my name. Ain't you 
pleased? 

Steele. Pleased ? You grinning monkey, what do you 
expect me to do for you ? 

Bobby. Well, I want to go to college. I don't like 
the grammar school ; the lessons are too hard. 

Steele. And so you want to go to college. Do you 
see that door? Put yourself outside of that quick, or I'll 
put you in a college where you won't get out in a hurry. 
Leave! (Takes him by the collar and leads him to the 
door.) [Exit Bobby. 

An impudent little monkey ! 

Bobby. (Sticks his head in.) Great benefactor you 
are ! If you won't send me to college, give me a quarter 
to buy some candy. 

Steele. Clear out ! (Throws ruler at him.) 

[Bobby disappears, l. 
This notoriety is getting to be positively unbearable. 

Enter Barney Hoolan, l. 

Well, now, what do you want? 

Barney. I beg your pardon ! If yer plase, is Mr. 
Steele widdin? I donno. 

Steele. Well, I do. He is, and I am he. What do 
you want? 

Barney. If ye plase, it's all on account of the ould 
woman. 

Steele. What old woman ? 

Barney. Mrs. Hoolan. She says to me, " Barney," 



36 A PUBLIC BENEFACTOR. 

says she. " Anan," says I. "It's very could and on- 
comfortable here for us and the childers. You must find 
a larger house." "By my troth," says I, "I've found 
one already, forninst the hill beyant there." 

Steele. Well, what's all this to do with me? 

Barney. Whist ! Be aisy. I'm a comin' to it. Says 
I, " Mrs. Hoolan, it's a mighty large sum it would take 
to get that home, and where would I find it?" " O, 
Barney," says she, " there's a fine good man by the name 
of Steele, that gives away his money to git his name in 
the papers. So, do yer mind, Barney, you go to him, ax 
him, would he give you the small matther of five hundred 
dollars, and we'll name our next boy for him, and git my 
brother Mike, what tinds the ingine in the paper office, 
to sthick his name in." And so, axing your pardon, I 
stepped in. 

Steele. And now just step out, you miserable beggar. 

Barney. Beggar, is it? Ye blackguard ! Do ye dare 
call Barney Hoolan, a free-born American citizen, who 
pays his taxes and votes the dimocratic ticket, a beggar? 
Benefactor, is it ye are? By the blessid St. Pathrick, 
what's the good uv it, when all the poor gits is a blast of 
billingsgate from yer ugly jaws! I'll tach yer to insult 
me ! 

Steele. Here, Harry, Harry ! 

Enter Harry, r. 

I do believe this man will assault me. 

Barney. Salt, is it, begorra? Ye jist come out into 
the public highway, and I'll salt and pickle ye too, ye 
ugly ould curmudgeon ! Away wid ye. \_Exit, l. 

Steele. Lock that door ! Keep them out ! Tell 



A PUBLIC BENEFACTOR. 37 

everybody I've gone out of town. I'm going home ; 
going to bed, and going to stay there a week. All this 
comes of trying to be charitable. 

Harry. No, father ; this comes of letting the world 
know you are charitable. Keep it to yourself. So you 
don't like being a public benefactor? 

Steele. No ; and if ever my name gets into a news- 
paper again, I'll shoot myself, to avoid the conse- 
quences. 

Harry. Ah, father, your old way was the best. 

Steele. I believe you, Harry ; and I believe the only 
way to become a true public benefactor is by obeying the 
Scripture injunction, " Let not thy left hand know what 
thy right hand doeth." [Exeunt. 



THE RUNAWAYS. 



CHARACTERS. 



Abel Grump, a Tuxbury Farmer. 
Johnny Grump, ) 
Charley Black, \ the R^aways. 
Policeman No. 429. 

Scene. — Street in Boston, 

Abel. (Outside, r.) Whoa, I tell you ! Standstill — 
can't you ? Whoa, now ! 

Enters, R., dressed in long blue frock, slouched hat, ivhip 
in hand. 

That air tarnal mare donno the difference between the 
sidewalk and the street ! Darn her, she's tried to git 
into every shop she come to ! This is a purty specker- 
lation, anyhow ! Right in the middle of my haying I 
must harness up and drive forty miles arter two pesky 
boys, that took it into their heads to run off to .Boston 
to seek their fortins ! Jest as if Tuxbury wasn't good 
enough for 'em ! Why, I've lived in Tuxbury, man and 
boy, a matter of fifty years or more, and I never thought 
o' coming to Boston. Considerable of a place, anyhow. 
Now I've got here, I donno where to look for 'em. 

39 



40 THE RUNAWAYS. 

Hollo, there's a sojer ! Here, captain, major, general, 
see here — will you? 

Enter Policeman No. 429, r. 

Policeman. Well, sir, what can I do for you? 

Abel. Be you infantry, artillery, or merlishy? 

Police. Neither. I am a policeman. 

Abel. Sho ! You don't say ! Policeman, what's that 
on your buzzum — u 429?" 'Tain't your weight — 
is it? 

Police. That, sir, is my number. 

Abel. Sho ! Where you live, I s'pose. Well, you do 
look big enough to find your way home without it. 
S'pose they're afraid you'll git lost ! 

Police. Come, come ; I'm in a hurry. State your 
case. 

Abel. State my case ? Well, my case is a purty hard 
^case. Hain't seen nothing of two boys — have you ? 

Police. Two boys? Yes, I've seen a hundred ! 

Abel. Sho ! But I mean ray boy Johnny and the 
Black boy, that run away from Tuxbury. 

Police. O, ho ! Your boy has run away with a negro ! 

Abel. Negro ? No, sir ; Charlie Black is Squire 
Black's boy, a darned little imp of mischief ! He's 
always gitting my Johnny into scrapes ! 

Police. If you will give me a description of the boys, 
I will try to hunt them up. 

Abel. Sho! Will you, though? Well, my Johnny 
he looks just like me, and the Black boy is the very 
picter of his father. 

Police. That's a queer description. I see what you 
look like, but I never saw the other boy's father. 



THE RUNAWAYS. 41 

Abel. Sho ! You don't say so ! Live in Boston, and 
don't know Squire Black ! Why, he's the member from 
Tuxbury ; he comes down here to legislate in Gineral 
Court. 

Police. There are a great many "members" come 
down here that I do not know. However, you come 
with me, and I'll try to find the boys. 

Abel. Well, now, that's clever. If you'll help me find 
'em, I'll make it worth your while. {Takes pocket-book 
from breast.) 

Police. Thank you ; but we never take anything. 

Abel. Sho ! You don't say ! Well, that's worth re- 
membering : Boston policemen never take anything. 

Police. You shall step round to the station with me, 
state your case to the captain, and perhaps some clew to 
the whereabouts of the runaways can be obtained. 

Abel. Well, I'll go right along with yer. Here's my 
wagon. I'd better drive along. S'pose you won't mind 
taking a seat, if you don't take nothing. (Puts pocket- 
book into his breast ; it falls upon the stage.) 

Police. Certainly not ; only be quick about it. 

Abel. Them air boys have gin me a heap of trouble. 
I'm precious fond of Johnny. I should hate to lose him, 
specially in haying-time. [Exeunt. 

Abel. (Outside.) Whoa, darn you ! Didn't you ever 
see a policeman afore ? 

Enter, l., Johnny and Charlie, with bundles. 

Charlie. Well, Johnny, in Boston at last. 

Johnny. Yes ; and very near the last of me. Every 
bone in my body aches, and my feet are dreadfully blis- 
tered. O, dear ! I wish I was home again ! 



42 THE RUNAWAYS. 

Charlie, You're a pretty chap — ain't you ? grum- 
bling and growling all the time ! Where's your spunk? 

Johnny. Gone; used up. Gave out long ago. Forty 
miles of walking have completely demolished it. O, 
don't I wish I was home again ! 

Charlie. Bah, baby ! Don't you want your mother? 

Johnny. You may sneer, Charlie, but mothers are 
mighty convenient institutions when a fellow is used up 
with aching bones and blistered feet. 

Charlie. (Sings.) "Kiss me, mother; kiss your 
darling." Ha, ha ! Come, Johnny, don't be spooney ! 
We're too old to be tied to our mothers' apron-strings. 
We set out, like bold knights, in search of that fame and 
fortune which await us here in Boston. 

Johnny. O, darn your fame and fortune ! I'm tired 
and hungry. 

Charlie. Hungry? Well, now you mention it, so am 
I ! What have w T e left in the way of eatables? 

Johnny. One solitary doughnut. 

Charlie. {Tragically.) Ha, ha! "The last my 
mother gave." 

Johnny. No, the last of two dozen abstracted from 
my mother's cupboard. 

Charlie. Divide it, Johnny. You know our agree- 
ment when we started : share equally. 

Johnny. Yes ; but the sharing has been all on my 
side. You had no money. I had a dollar. You fur- 
nished no provisions. I appropriated the family supply 
of doughnuts. It strikes me it is about time for you to 
do something for the company. 

Charlie. All in good time. Let's divide the doughnut. 
(Johnny takes doughnut from the bundle^ and they eat.) 



THE RUNAWAYS. 43 

Johnny. Pretty dry pickings for " bold knights." 

Charlie. Well, it is rather tough. However, there's 
good luck in store for us in this famous city. 

Johnny. Well, perhaps there is. I've heard you tell 
about " picking up gold in the streets," but I don't see it. 

Charlie. Ha! what's that? (Sees pocket-book.) " Find- 
ing's havings." (Picks it up.) Here's luck — a pocket- 
book ! stuffed with bills too ! I told you, Johnny, fortune 
awaited me in Boston. 

Johnny. You ? Us, you mean. By jingo, what a 
prize ! 

Charlie. (Counting.) Tens, twenties, a fifty, one 
hundred ! Why, this is luck ! 

Johnny. Ain't it? I feel better. Now then, Charlie, 
" divy," you know. 

Charlie. Do what? 

Johnny. Divide it. You haven't forgot our bargain 
to share everything. 

Charlie. But this is a different matter. I found the 
pocket-book. You certainly cannot expect me to give 
you half of what I find. 

Johnny. But, hang it, Charlie, you expected half of 
my doughnuts. 

Charlie. Doughnuts and money are different articles. 

Johnny. So it seems. And you won't divide? 

Charlie. Certainly not. I found it, and I mean to 
keep it. 

Johnny. Charlie Black, you're a humbug. You in- 
duced me to run away from a good home to share your 
fortunes in Boston ; agreed to share everything, mind, 
and now you refuse to stick to your bargain. 

Charlie. No ; but this is a special case. I didn't say 



44 THE RUNAWAYS. 

anything about it, but I made a mental reservation that 
whoever found a pocket-book should keep it. 

Johnny. Yes ; I only wish I'd made a " mental res- 
ervation " concerning my doughnuts. You'd have been 
glad to turn back before we got half way here. ( Cries 
outside, r., " Stop thief! " "Stop thief!" "Pickpocket ! ") 

Charlie. Good. gracious ! What's that? 

Johnny. Somebody's lost his pocket-book. Shouldn't 
wonder if it had something to do with yours. Probably 
some thief dropped it. 

Charlie. You don't say so ! Here, Johnny, you take 
it. Let's jump into that park and hide. I'll divide. 

Johnny. Will you? You're a little too late. Had 
you stuck to your bargain, I'd have stuck by you. 

Charlie. But, Johnny, I shall be arrested. 

Johnny. Shouldn't wonder if you was. Good by ! • 
I'm off! 

Charlie. Don't desert me. I shall be locked up. 

Johnny. I think you will ; but don't get frightened. 
I'm going back to Tuxbury. I'll tell your father all 
about it, and he'll get you out of the scrape. Good by. 
I'm off. [Exit, l. 

Charlie. Johnny, come back. He's gone ! What shall 
I do? I'll run. (Buns across stage to l.) 

Policeman No. 429 enters, r., chases him, and seizes him 
by the collar. 

Police. O, that's your game — is it ? But you're 
wanted. 

Charlie. What's the matter ! I haven't done nothing. 
Let me go. I picked it up. 

Police. Shut up ! There's a clear case against you, 



THE RUNAWAYS. 45 

my lad. Give me that pocket-book, and come along 
with me. 

Charlie, You let me go. I don't belong here. I've 
just arrived from the country. 

Police. Well, we'll send you back to the country — 
sometime. But now you are wanted at the station-house. 
Come along. (Drags hi?n towards R.) 

Charlie. But you are mistaken. I'm not a thief. I 
can prove my innocence. 

Police. Well, come and prove it, then. Come along, I 
say. 

Abel. (Outside, r.) Neow yeou don't! I'll fix you, 
you scamp ! I'll teach you to run away ! 

Enter l., dragging Johnny. 

Hallo, 429 ! I've found my Johnny ; and ef we can 
only find the Black boy — Hallo ! w 7 ho you got there ? 

Police. A young thief who picked a gentleman's 
pocket. 

Charlie. Don't you believe him, Mr. Grump. 

Abel. Sho ! Why, that's the Black boy ! 

Police. Is it? He's a thief, then. 

Abel. Sho ! You don't say so ! What will Squire 
Black say? 

Charlie. I'm not a thief. I found the pocket-book 
right here in the street. 

Johnny. That's true, father ; I was with him when he 
found it. I wanted him to divide the money. He re- 
fused, and I left him. 

Police. You were with him? Then I want you too. 

Abel. Now hold on, 429 ; there's some mistake here. 

Police. No, there isn't. Here's the pocket-book. 



46 THE RUNAWAYS. 

Abel. Sho ! Why, that's my sheep-skin ! 

Police. Yours ? 

Abel. Sart'in. Why, I must have dropped it when I 
offered you something. You'll find my name writ in it — 
Abel Grump. 

Police. {Opens pocket-book.} "Abel Grump," sure 
enough. It certainly is yours. {Gives it to Abel.) 

Abel. Mine, sure as preaching ! Why, you tarnal 
imps ! what have you been up to ? 

Johnny. We've been doing wrong, father ; and I'm 
sorry, for my part. Let me get back to Tuxbury, and 
you'll never hear of my running away again. 

Police. Hadn't you better take them to the station- 
house, and lock them up? 

Charlie. No, I don't want to go. 

Johnny. No, I don't want to be locked up. 

Abel. Shet up your yelling ! Do you want to rouse 
the neighbors? No. 429, I'll take care of my Johnny. 
As for the Black boy, you jest take him up to the state- 
house, knock at the front door, and ask for Squire Black. 
HeHl take care of him. 

Po%ice. I'll do it at once. 

» 

Johnny. Charlie. 

Charlie. Well. 

Johnny. Don't you think " picking up gold in the 
streets" is pretty risky business? 

Charlie. I begin to think it is. 

Johnny. And that "running away" is a poor start 
for fame and fortune. I'm sure I do. 

Abel. Well, I'll take care it don't happen again. I 
tell you what, boys, you've done two mean things : you've 
run away from your nat'ral protectors, who have the 



TEE RUNAWAYS. 47 

best right to you and what you arn ; and you've taken 
that what don't belong to you, with the intention of 
appropriating it, individually and collectively, before 
looking for the rightful owner ; and if you don't feel 
ashamed of yourselves, you oughter. Come along, 
Johnny ; here's the mare wandering round like a lost 
Hottentot ! Let's start for Tuxbury. I guess you've 
both had a scare that will last you for the rest of your 
nat'ral existence. Bless your lucky stars, Charlie Black, 
that it was my calf-skin you found ; and thank yours, 
Johnny Grump, that you've got a home, and a daddy to 
take you there. Come along. 

\_Exeunt Policeman and Charlie, r. ; 
Abel and Johnny, l. 
Abel. (Outside.) Whoa, darn ye; let them cobble- 
stones alone. Whoa, I say ! 



1 



IGNORANCE IS BLISS. 



CHARACTERS. 



Fred Brown. J 
Johnny Gray. 
Ned White. 

Scene. — Recitation-Room at a Public School. 

Enter Fred. 

Fred. A pretty task Master Green has given me this 
time ! He calls me to his desk, and says, u Brown, those 
boys, Gray and White, have been very inattentive during 
the music lesson : take them into the recitation-room, 
and keep them there until they can sing four stanzas of 
' The Battle-cry of Freedom.' " A nice music-master I 
am ! I can't read, sing, or growl a note, and I don't 
know a single line of " The Battle-cry of Freedom." 
But I must not let them know that. Here they are. 
(Enter Gray and W 7 iiite ; they get in a corner of the 
stage, and whisper together.) Now, what conspiracy is 
hatching? Hem! Here, you fellows, do you know 
what you came here for? 

Gray. To take a music lesson, I suppose. 

Fred. Well, you had better commence. 

White. Certainly, after you. 

4 49 



50 IGNORANCE IS BLISS. 

Fred. After me ! What do you mean? 

White. I believe it's the custom of all music-masters 
to first sing the song they wish to teach. (Aside to 
Gray.) He can't sing a note. 

Gray. (Aside to White.) He can't? good! Let's 
plague him. (Aloud.) Come, singing-master, proceed. 

Fred. No matter about me. You two can sing, and 
when you make a mistake I will correct it. 

Gray. You'll correct it ! That's good. With what, 
pray? 

Fred. With this. (Producing a rattan from under his 
jacket.) 

White. O, dear, I don't like that sort of tuning-fork. 

Fred. You'll get it if you don't hurry. Come, boys, 
u The Battle-cry of Freedom." ^ r 

Gray. (Aside to White.) Bed, do you know the 
song? 

White. (Aside.) I know just one line. 

Gray. (Aside.) O, dear, we're in a scrape. (Aloud.) 
Master Fred, will you please give me the first line ? I've 
forgotten it. 

Fred. ,Certainly. Let me see. " Rock me to sleep, 
mother." No, that isn't it. • 

White. (Aside.) He's-spftt on that rock. 

Fred. Hem ! ah ! " Dear father, dear father, come 
home." O, bother ! 

Gray. (Aside.) It'll bother Mm to " come home " 
with that line. 

Fred. " Give me a cot." — O, pshaw ! I tell you 
what, $Q£S, I didn't come here to talk, but to listen : now 
you two sing away at once, or down comes the rattan. 

Gray. (Aside.) I say,s^fed, Brown doesn't know it; 



IGNORANCE IS BLISS. 51 

here's fun. Now you just keep quiet, and ring in your 
line when I snap my fingers. 

White, (Aside.) All right. I understand. When 
you snap, I sing. 

Fred. Come, come ! Strike up, or I shall strike 
down. 

Gray. (Sings to the tune of the Battle-cry of Free- 
dom?) — 

" Mary had a little lamb ; 
Its fleece was white as snow." 

(Snaps his fingers.) 
White. ( Very loud.) 

M Shouting the battle-cry of freedom." 
Gray. (Sings.) 

u And everywhere that Mary went 
The lamb was sure to go." (Snaps.) 

Wlxxte. " Shouting the battle-cry of freedom." 
Fred. Capital ! Perfectly correct, perfectly correct. 
Siug again. 

Gray. (Sings.) 

" It followed her to school one day ; 
It was against the rule." (Snaps.) 

White. " Shouting the battle-cry of freedom." 
Gray. (Sings.) 

" It made the children laugh and play 
To see a lamb at school." (Snaps.) 

White. " Shouting the battle-cry of freedom." 
Fred. Beautiful ! beautiful ! I couldn't do it better 
myself. 

Gray. (Aside.) I should think not. 

White. Come, Mr. Singing-aa&ster, you try a stanza. 



52 IGNORANCE IS BLISS. 

Fred. What, sir ! do you want to shirk your task ? 
Sing away. 

Gray. (Sings.) 

"And so the teacher turned him out ; 
Yet still he lingered near." (Snaps.) 

White. " Shouting the battle-cry of freedom." 
Gray. 

"And waited patiently about, 

Till Mary did appear." (Snaps.) 

White. " Shouting the battle-cry of freedom." 
Fred. Glorious ! Why, beys, it's a perfect uproar. 
White. There's enough, isn't there? 
Fred. No, sir, four stanzas. Come, be quick. 
Gray. I don't know any more. 
White. I'm sure I don't. 

Fred. Yes you do, you're trying to shirk ; but I won't 
have it. You want a taste of the rattan. Come, be 
lively. 

Gray. (Sings.) 

" ' What makes the lamb love Mary so?' 
The eager children cry." (Snaps.) 

White. " Shouting the battle-cry of freedom." 
Gray. 

" ' Why, Mary loves the lamb, you know,' 
The teacher did reply." (Snaps.) 

White. " Shouting the battle-cry of freedom." 
Fred. There, boys, I knew you could sing. Now 
come in, and 1 will tell Master Green how capitally you 
have done — that I couldn't do better myself. [Exit. 

White. Well, Johnny, we got out of that scrape 
pretty well. 



IGNORANCE IS BLISS. 53 

Gray. Yes,*^Fe"d ; but it's a poor way. I must pay a 
little more attention to my singing. 

White. And so must I, for we may not always have a 
teacher on whom the old saying fits so well. 

Gray. Old saying? What's that? 

White. " Where ignorance is bliss — " 

Gray. 0, yes, " 'Twere folly to be wise." 

[Exeunt. 



7 



,\ 



THE RIVAL POLITICIANS. 



CHARACTERS. 

Tom Slowboy, Conservative. 
Sam Sly, Radical. 

Scene. — Platform at a School Exhibition. — Sam Sly 
seated among the audience. 

Enter Tom Slowboy upon platform. 

Slowboy. {With extravagant and awkward gestures.) 
Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen : It is my pe-rivilege to 
stand before you to-night as the ex-ponent of a party, 
gentlemen, which is destined to make a new era in the 
world's history ; a party, gentlemen, standing upon the 
platform upon which our forefathers stood ; a party, gen- 
tlemen, above all trickery ; the party which is to save 
this glorious country — this mighty, this stupenduous 
country, which, stretching from the St. Lawrence to the 
Gulf, washed by the Atlantic and the Pacific, yet hangs 
upon the verge of ruin. 

" Lives there a man, with soul so dead, 
Who never to himself has said — " 

Sly. Louder ! 

Slow. (Louder.) I say, — 

55 



56 THE RIVAL POLITICIANS. 

" Lives there a man — " 
Sly. Louder ! 

Slow. I'll just thank that small boy if he will preserve 
order. 

" This is my own, my native land? " 

Gentlemen, one man, and one alone, can save us. Need 
I tell you who he is? No, gentlemen, no. 

Sly. Yes, gentlemen, yes ; let's have his name. • 

Slow. It is, gentlemen, that sturdy patriot, that un- 
flinching friend of the people, the great inventor of soup- 
houses, Nickodemus Orcutt — he for whom, to-morrow, 
you will cast such an overwhelming vote, as selectman 
of the town of Scratchgravel — 

Sly. Hurrah for Old Nick ! 

Slow. This is the man, gentlemen, who can save us. 
You know him well. The public spirit, the honesty, the 
worth of this famed patriot, this great promoter of — 
of_of— 

Sly. The Onion. 

Slow. The Onion ; no, no ; the Union. Sam Sly, 
I've had quite enough of this. 

Sly. I guess we all have. 

Slow. I didn't come here to be insulted. I go for free 
speech. 

Sly. So do I. Go it, Slowboy. 

Sloiv. Mr. Nickodemus Orcutt, gentlemen, is a warm, 
thoughtful friend of the people ; not a rash man, seeking 
to drive the country to perdition with steamboats and 
locomotives, but a man anxious to do all in his power to 
revive the good old days of safety and sobriety ; a man, 
gentlemen, deeply read — 



THE RIVAL POLITICIANS. 57 

Sly. Especially his nose. 

Slow. Confound you, Sly. — Thoroughly dyed — 

Sly.. Mark his whiskers. 

Slow. Will somebody put that boy out ? — Who would 
not turn a hair — 

Sly. 'Cause he's bald. 

Slow. O, won't you catch it? — A hair's breadth from 
the party lines ; a conservative man, gentlemen, who will 
abolish railroads, which always end in a smash-up ; pro- 
hibit steamboats, which blow out with a blow-up ; and 
revive, in all their pristine beauty, the only secure means 
of travel — the stage-coach and the canal-boat; a man, 
gentlemen, who will so clip the American eagle — 

Sly. Louder ! 

Slow. {Louder.) The American eagle. 

Sly. Louder ! 

Slow. O, pshaw ! Look here, Sam Sly, what did 
you come here for? 

Sly. To cheer for old Nick. You promised me a 
dollar if I would. 

Slow. Confound you ! can't you be quiet ! • 

Sly. (Jumping upon his seat.) What ! and see the 
American eagle abused? No, sir ; I claim the privilege, 
at all times and in all places, of standing up for the 
American eagle ! He's the prey of every political spouter 
in the land. He's been lugged to the top of the Rocky 
Mountains, been made to roost on the towers of Moro 
Castle, skewered on every liberty -pole, and nailed to the 
wall in every public hall ; and now you propose to clip 
him. I protest against this outrage to the first of Amer- 
ican poultry. 

Slow. Sam Sly, whose meeting is this? 



58 THE RIVAL POLITICIANS. 

Sly. The people's meeting. You would like to make 
it the caucus of an old fogy party. But it won't do, 
Slowboy ; it won't do. 

Slow. Sly, I'll give you another dollar to be quiet. 

Sly. (Resumes his seat.) All right, Slowboy ; fire 
away. 

Slow. Gentlemen, Mr. Nickodemus Orcutt has such 
a regard for the American eagle that he would clip its 
wings, that it might stay at home, and not run the risk 
of being sweltered in that Turkish bath, Cuba, or frozen 
in that ice-cream saloon, Alaska. And, gentlemen, the 
constitution — the constitution, gentlemen, he would lay 
out — 

Sly. Hold on, Slowboy. 

Slow. What's the matter now ? 

Sly. (Jumping ^up on his seat.) Can't stand that, 
Slowboy; I must stand up for the constitution — the 
glorious constitution. It's been abused, Slowboy — 
shamefully abused. It's been left at Gettysburg, at Buf- 
falo, at St. Louis, swung all around the circle, and now 
you want to lay it out. 

Slow. Will you be quiet ? — Nickodemus Orcutt would 
lay it out on the table of every farmer in the land, as the 
only true chart by which to steer. 

Sly. (Resuming his seat.) 0, that'll do ; go on, 
Slowboy. 

Slow. And now, gentlemen, I turn to that symbol of 
the republic, the American flag — that flag which has 
lain in the dust — 

Sly. Hold on, Slowboy ; hold on. Can't stand that. 

Slow. Sly, you're a nuisance. You've been the bane 
of my existence. Whenever, as speaker or as poet, I 



THE RIVAL POLITICIANS. 59 

have endeavored to make my mark, you're always in the 
way. Perhaps you'd like to take my place. 

Sly. (Jumping upon platform.) Thank you. I don't 
care if I do make a few feeble remarks. 

Slow. Halloo ! you ain't coming up here ! 

Sly. To be sure I am ; didn't you invite me ? 

Slow. But I didn't mean it. Come, go down, that's 
a good fellow, and let me finish my speech. 

Sly. No, sir ; this is a public meeting, and I've just 
as good a right to speak as you have. 

Slow. Public meeting ! Pshaw ! it's an exhibition, and 
I have the floor. You've no business here. Now, Sly, 
do go down. 

Sly. After you've invited me here? No, sir. 

Slow. You're spoiling everything. You've upset my 
ideas. 

Sly. Well, that won't break anything. 

Slow. I've only five minutes more to speak. Now do 
go, Sly. 

Sly. No, sir. Five minutes? I'll tell you what I'll 
do, Slow : I'll help you out. We'll divide the five min- 
utes. You shall speak one, then I'll speak one ; and so 
on, till the time is consumed. 

Slow. O, pshaw ! I can't do that ; I've got the floor. 

Sly. So have I. I don't believe in compromises ; 
but for once I was willing to humor you ; but, as you 
don't like it, here goes : Ladies and gentlemen, — 

Slow. Hold on : I consent, though you have no right 
here. 

Sly. I think I have, anything you have said to the 
contrary notwithstanding ; so go ahead ; there's the 
clock, and when time's up I'll give the word. 



60 THE RIVAL POLITICIANS. 

Slow. Gentlemen, Mr. Nick — Mr. Nick — Mr. 
Nick — Confound it, Sam Sly, you've knocked it all 
out of my head. Where did I leave off? — the American 
eagle? No, I said that. The constitution? O, pshaw ! 
Mr. Nick. — Dear me, how time does fly ! — Ah, I have 
it at last. Gentlemen, Mr. Nickodemus Orcutt and the 
American flag- 
s'/?/. ( Who has been standing watching the clock, 
pulls him by the sleeve.) Time, Slowboy. Ladies and 
Gentlemen : Mr. Chairman : Sir, I appear before you 
to-night a humble American citizen, with a heart filled 
with gratitude to the noble founders of this glorious re- 
public — this free and happy republic, whose equal cannot 
be found ; and, would time permit, I should be proud 
and happy to pour forth, in humble imitation of my elo- 
quent friend here, warm tributes to their patriotism and 
virtue. But time flies. Let me speak of one who is 
near and dear to all of us, our esteemed fellow-towns- 
man, Samuel Sawyer, who is up for selectman in oppo- 
sition to Mr. Nickodemus Orcutt. You all know him. A 
young, talented, enterprising lawyer — a true type of 
Young America. 

Slow. Time's up, Sly. 

Sly. A rising man, eloquent in the public assembly. 

Slow. Sly, Sly ! time's up. 

Sly. Genial on a — 

Slow. (Pulling Sly by sleeve.) Time's up. 

Sly. O, is it? Go ahead, Slowboy. 

Slow. Go ahead ! — I should think so ! Look here, 
Sly ; you ain't playing fair ; you've run over your time 
considerably ; it's one of your regular sly dodges, and I 
won't stand it. Do you hear? I tell you I won't stand 



THE RIVAL POLITICIANS. 61 

it ! Why don't you speak ? (Sly points to the clock.) O, 
dear ! I forgot ; where did I leave off ? How that clock 
does go ! Ladies and gentlemen : Mr. Chairman. — 
Dear me ! where did I leave off! I have it : Mr. Nick- 
odemus Orcutt and the American flag — 

Sly. Time, Slowboy. Gentlemen : Mr. Sawyer, as 
I said before, is a true type of Young America — a 
progressive man ; a man of enlarged ideas, who believes 
in the spread of freedom, the rights of workingmen, the 
acquisition of territory, a patron of railroads, a warm 
advocate for woman's rights, universal suffrage, and the 
protection of American citizens even when on a train. 
Elect him, and you annex Cuba this year, Mexico the 
next, conquer Europe the year after, and raise the Stars 
and Stripes upon the Great Wall of China in 1870. 

Slow. Time's up, Sly. 

Sly. Elect him, and peace shall reign once more in 
the halls of Congress. 

Sloiv. Time's up, Sly. 

Sly. And in the South — 

Slow. (Pushing Sly.) Time's up, Sly. 

Sly. 0, is it? How time does fly ! Go ahead, 
Slowboy. 

Slow. Go ahead ! It's all very well to say, Go 
ahead! But how can I go ahead when you act so? I 
tell you what, Sly, if I catch you running over time 
again, I'll wallop you, you little — O, dear ! my speech ! 
Where was I ? Mr. Sly — I mean Mr. Speaker : ladies 
and gentlemen — Sly — Gent — O, dear ! — American 
eagle — constitution — I have it ! Mr. Nickodemus 
Orcutt and the American flag — 

Sly. Time, Slowboy. Ladies and gentlemen : I could 



62 THE RIVAL POLITICIANS. 

use an hour profitably in sounding the virtues of Mr. 
Sawyer, but time will not permit. I shall only ask you 
to compare this whole-souled patriotic type of Young 
America with that rusty, crusty old fogy, Old Nick — 

Sloiv. Hold on, Sly ; I can't stand that, time or no 
time. Abusing my candidate in that manner. (To 
audience,) — Gentlemen : — 

Sly. Hold on, Slowboy ; the five minutes are up. A 
bargain's a bargain, you know. 

Slow. I don't care ; I will speak. 

Sly. Well, then, we'll give you another minute. 

Slow. That's all I want. If it hadn't been for you, I 
should have been through long ago. What right have 
you here any way? If you attempt to interrupt me 
again, I'll have you placed in custody as a disturber of 
the peace. Ladies and gentlemen : I hope you will 
pardon this interruption ; it was none of my seeking. 
You've seen this boy before. He's one of the small mis- 
eries of human life which must be endured. But to my 
speech. As I was saying — Dear me ! what was I 
saying? Mr. Nickodemus Orcutt and the American 
flag — 

Sly. Time, Slowboy, time. (Runs off.) 

Slow. Clear out, you nuisance ! Wait till after 
school; that's all! {Exit. 



"COALS OF FIRE. 



11 



CHARACTERS. 



Adam Crabtree, a Farmer. 
Phil O'Hara, his Servant. 
Mr. Meek, a Country Minister. 
Bobby Greening, ) School . boys and 
Dick Pippin, >■ orchard despo ii ers . 

Charley Baldwin, ) 

Scene. — A Room in Crabtree's House. Table covered 
with white cloth, on luhich are candles burning, C. back. 
Two chairs r. and one chair l. of table. Arm-chair 
R. C. 

Enter Adam, r., with a steel trap in his hand, and a mus- 
ket under his arm, followed by Mr. Meek. 

Adam. Tell yer it's no use talkin' ; I'm a goin' to 
give them mischievous chaps a pepperin', jest as sure as 
my name's Crabtree. Moral suasion, as you call it, par- 
son, may be purty good preachin' ; but when yer come 
to find yer best apples agoin' night arter night, some- 
thin' a leetle more powerful in the way of argument is 
wanted. This old shootin'-iron and that ere trap '11 
make more converts to the truth that honesty's the best 
policy, than all the sermons you ever writ or preached. 

63 



64 COALS OP FIRE. 

Mr. Meek. No, no, Brother Crabtree ; depend upon 
it, you are wrong in your treatment. You'll excuse my 
plain speaking, but you have gained a hard name among 
the boys. If one casts an admiring glance at your apples 
from the road, he is assaulted with a tcrrent of threats, 
if not by a shower of stones. If a party of them stop in 
front of your door on their way to school, you rudely 
burst upon them, horsewhip in hand. You commenced 
wrong, brother, before they ever entered your grounds ; 
by your harshness you made enemies of them. I know 
something of boys, brother. They are full of fun, and 
frolicsome as kittens, if you are gentle with them ; but if 
you brush the hair the wrong way, look out for squalls. 

Adam. I tell yeou, parson, they're a thievish set, and 
I'll riddle some on 'em with buckshot afore I git through 
with 'em, yeou see ef I don't. 

Mr. Meek. Nay, nay, Brother Crabtree, don't say 
thieves. It's only the love of fun that brings them to 
your orchard. There's not one of them but what could 
have his fill of apples at home. Treat them kindly, and 
Til answer for the safety of your fruit. 

Adam. Neow look a here, parson. I believe I pay 
jest as much for preachin' as the biggest man in this ere 
teown. But all I want fur my money is what I git Sun- 
day. Preachin's jest like baked beans — once a week is 
all a man wants. So don't yeou go ter meddlin' in my 
secular affairs. 

Mr. Meek. It is my business, Brother Crabtree, to 
settle all quarrels which may arise in my parish. And 
here's a very foolish one between you and the school- 
boys, which I mean to heal. You wish to save your 
apples — do you not? 



COALS OF FIRE. 65 

Adam. Of course I do ; and if them air boys comes 
here to-night, as I know they will — 

Mr. Meek. Do as I advise, and 'twill be their last 
visit. You and your man watch, and if they come, seize 
them and bring them into the house. 

Adam. Well, I don't object to that ; and when I git 
'era here, I'll wallop — 

Mr. Meek. No ; treat them with the utmost kindness. 
Do not allude to the business which brought 'them here. 
Spread your table with some delicacies, give them the 
best you have, call it a surprise party, and invite them to 
come again. Thus, in the language of Scripture, you 
will be " heaping coals of fire upon their heads," and 
your kindness will work a cure where your musket will 
fail. 

Adam. " Coals of fire ! " Is that ere Scripter, 
parson ? 

Mr. Meek. It certainly is. 

Adam. Well, I never. That's what I should call 
going over to the enemy. Couldn't do it. 

Mr. Meek. Try it, brother, try it. If the result does 
not prove me right, I will not only withdraw my objec- 
tions to the buckshot, but will join you, with a good stout 
cudgel, and assist in driving away the depredators. 

Adam. Well, I declare, that idee tickles me mightily. 
Yer sure it's Scripter, parson. 

Mr. Meek. You'll find it in Proverbs, brother. 

Adam. Well, I always did believe in Scripter. I've 
a good mind to try it, parson. 

Mr. Meek. Do, neighbor ; you will not regret it. 

Adam. Yes, parson, I remember, " If your enemy 
hunger, give him bread, and so heap coals of fire onto 
5 



66 C0AL8 OP FIRE. 

his head." That is good Scripter. Here's my hand, 
parson. I'll try your remedy ; but if that fails, you jine 
me — 

Mr. Meek. Heart and soul, Brother Crabtree. It's 
very dark to-night. You'll have a chance to try our 
method of preserving apples. Good by. I'll drop in 
soon, and see how it works. [Exit, R. 

Adam. Good by, parson. Neow he's a raal good 
soul, an awful fine man, and he knows Scripter tew. 
(Puts the gun in R. corner bach.) I s'pose I've been 
kinder harsh with the school chaps. (Puts trap in l. 
corner hack.) I'm an old bach ; never had any boys to 
take care on, and so I s'pose I don't know the breed as I 
orter. Here, Phil, Phil ! Where on airth is that critter? 

Phil. (Outside, l.) Aisy, aisy. Bedad, I'm a coom- 
ing, jist. (Enter, L.) And was yer spakin', Mr. Crab- 
tree? 

Adam. To be sure I was, you numbskull. 

Phil. I ax yer pardon ; but me mimory's failin' ; I 
was in doubt — 

Adam. What is there in the house to eat? 

Phil. Ate, is it? Well, there's the cat to ate, 
and a cowld turkey to be atin', barrin' what the cat 
has stolen. 

Adam. I don't mean that. Is there anything in the 
way of pastry ? 

Phil. Pastry, is it? There's the cowld cabbage and 
the cowld praties. 

Adam. No, no. Pies, cake — anything of that sort. 

Phil. Begorra ! there's the big apple-dowdy in the 
oven — the finest iver yer smilt. 

Adam. Just the thing ! How near done is it? 



COALS OF FIRE. 07 

Phil. Eiddy at the call, sighin' and singin' wid it's 
swateness, like a purty girl awaitin' for her beau. 

Adam. Hark ye, Phil. I'm going to try a new way 
to rid myself of the varmints who plunder my trees. - 

Phil. So I would. Give them a taste of the contints 
of that stale barrel in the corner. 

Adam. No ; I shall not try that. I'm going to put 
"coals of fire" on their heads, Phil. Do you hear? 
Coals of fire. 

Phil. O, murther ! Frizzle the brains of the darlints ! 
(Aside.) Bedad, who'd think that ould heathen would 
turn out a friar ? (Aloud.) Coals iv fire ! Ye'll niver 
go for to*be doin' that, Mr. Crabtree. 

Adam. Pshaw ! I'm speaking meta — meta — ahem — 
metaphysically. 

Phil. Meta — which is it? 

Adam. Well, no matter. 'Tain't jist the word, I 
guess. You'll find out in time. What I want to say 
now is this : when yer hear the boys climbing over the 
wall, run out, catch as many as yer can, and drag 'em in 
here. Do yer understand? 

Phil. To be sure I do. Eun "out, catch out, and 
drag out. 

Adam. Hark! What's that? 

Phil. Whist, whist ! it's the villains craping by the 
door. 

Adam. Then go, quick — 

Phil. Bedad, I'm after thim ! \_Exit, R. 

Adam. And I'm after you. Lively, Phil, lively ! 

[Exit, B. 

Phil. (Outside.) Arrah, my honey ! I have yez ! 

Bobby. (Outside.) Quit! I ain't a doin' nothin'. 



68 COALS OP FIRE. 

Phil. (Outside.) That's thrue for yez, honey. It's 

I that's doin'. Aha, yez scamp ! 

Dick. (Outside.) Ow ! my arm, my arm ! Lemme 
go ! 

Phil. (Outside.) To be sure I will. Go along wid 
me. (Enter , r., dragging Dick and Bobby.) There yez 

are, my b'ys, jist as snug as a flay in an Irishman's 
Jacket. 

Enter Crabtree, r., dragging Charley. 

Charley. O, Mr. Crabtree ! please, I won't do so any 
more. 

Adam. Phil, let go. (Releases Charley.) 

Phil. Scoot, yez spalpeens. (The hoys all run into 
L. corner front, and try to hide behind each other, pushing 
and crowding in terror.) 

Adam. (Rubbing his hands and grinning.) Well, my 
young friends, my dear young friends, you thought you 
would surprise the old man, did yer? But I heard 
all about it. Coming to make me a visit. Oho, you 
rogues ! Well, I'm glad to see you, and I'll make yer 
have a nice, pleasant time — won't I, Phil? 

Phil. That's thrue for yez, Mr. Crabtree. (Aside.) 
A rid-hot time. 

Adam. Now, make yourselves comfortable, boys, 
make yourselves comfortable, while I see what I can find 
to treat you on. Phil, set out the table ; we'll have a 
feast ! aha, a feast, boys ! \_Exit, L. 

(Phil sets out the table, smoothes the cloth, watching 
the boys all the while, then, standing behind the table, with 
his hands resting on it, speaks.) 

Phil. Ah, well, yez poor, forsakin' arphans, it's little 



COALS OP FIRE. 69 

yez fathers and mithers know av the sad fate that's 
r.waitin' yez. Ye'll be cut off in the flower av yez youth. 
O, musha ! ye thaves ! ye'd stale apples — would ye ? 
ye would. Did iver ye rade Misther Fox's Book of 
Howly Marthers? av the power fellers tied up by the 
two thumbs av 'em, wid niver a fut av ground ferninst 
the soles av 'em? O, will, will, 'twould be consolin' to 
yez, ye dear, delightful, murtherin', thavin' villains, yez, 
and the rid-hot cowls they briled themselves on so com- 
fortably ! It's well yer spacheless. Ye'll stale no more 
apples, yez blackguards. \_Exit, l. 

( The boys all rush over to the r., try the door* find it 
locked* then come down c.) 

Dick. Darn you, Bob Greening ! See what a scrape 
you've got us inter, now. 

Bob. 'Twan't me, Dick Pippin. I didn't want ter 
come. I don't like apples, anyhow : they allers give me 
the colic. 

Dick. Tell yer you proposed it. You said, u Let's 
go to old Crabtree's." And now you want to shift it on 
ter somebody else. 

Bob. Tell yer I didn't. I said, " Let's go down the 
road and take a walk." And you said, " Let's git over 
the wall." And I said — 

Charley. 0, come, boys ; don't quarrel. We've got 
into a scrape, and we are all to blame. So, let's put our 
heads together, and find the quickest and easiest way of 
getting out of trouble. 

Dick. I say, Charley, what do you s'pose the old 
man's going to do? 

Bobi Something dreadful, I know, he talks so very 
nice. 



70 COALS OF FIRE. 

Charley. That's just my idea, boys. I don't like his 
looks. He's always been such a cross, savage old fellow, 
that this change means no good to us. He's trying to 
deceive us. 

Dick. Good gracious ! s'pose he's gone for a cowhide ! 

Bob. Or a big bull-dog ! Dear me ! I wish I was 
home ! 

Charley. Well, don't cry, " Baby," whatever comes. 
Stand by me, and I'll get you out of the scrape. Hallo ! 
see that gun in the corner ! 

Dick. (Goes up and looks at it.) It's loaded and 
capped. 

Bob. And there's a big trap in the other corner. 

Dick. Hark ! somebody's coming. ( They all run into 
L. corner, as before.) 

Enter Crabtree, l. 

Adam. Ah, looking round? That's good. Make your- 
selves at home, make yourselves at home. 

Dick. (Aside.) I wish I could. 

Bob. (Aside.) You won't catch me out another 
night ! 

Charley. Hush ! Keep still, and do just as I do. 

Adam. (Draws a chair up, and seats himself behind 
the table.) Come, draw up here, boys, and I'll give yer 
something nice. I do like boys. Come, don't be bash- 
ful ; come right along. (Charley takes a chair, draws 
it up, and sits R. of table ; Bob and Dick take chairs, and 
seat themselves l. of table, watching Charley.) Neow, 
that's what I call raal cosy. Here, Phil, bring in the 
crockery. And now what shall I call you? (To 
Charley.) 



COALS OP FIRE. 71 

Charley. Charley. 

Adam. Charley? Well, that's a good name. I had 
a brother called Charley, once. And what's your name, 
sonny? (To Dick.) 

Dick. Dick. 

Adam. Dick? That's a nice name. I've got a horse 
that I call Dick. And what's your name, bub? (To 
Bob.) 

Bob. Bob. 

Adam. Bob? Why, that's the name of my donkey. 
Ain't much bigger than yeou, nuther. Where on airth's 
that crockery? Phil! 

Phil. (Outside.) Can't yez be aisy wid yez howling. 
(Enter, L., with plates on his arm, and a napkin in his 
hand. — Aside.) Bedad, there's the three little morthers 
assimbled about the alther, and there's the high praste a 
grinning like a faind, that he is. Faith, now, it's 'con- 
siderate to dale gently wid them first, and for that same 
raisin I've hit the plates hot. 

Adam. Come, come ! don't you see my guests are im- 
patient? 

Phil. Ah, will, will, I'm a cooming. (Takes a plate 
with his napkin, and hands it to Dick, who snatches at it, 
drops it on the floor, and shakes his fingers, with a howl.) 

Adam. (Jumping up.) You little scamp! Ah — 
ah — my dear boy, never mind, never mind. It's only 
a plate. 

Phil. That's thrue for yez, honey. (Gives a plate in 
the same manner to Bob, who drops it, luith a howl.) 

Adam. (To Bob.) You careless scamp! — ah — I 
mean — ^ 

Phil. My dear b'y, it's only a plate, jist. (Ojfers a 



72 COALS OF FIRE. 

plate to Charley, who looks up at him with a smile, then 
takes the corner of the table-cloth, receives the plate, and 
places it on the table.) Begorra, a foine b'y that. (Places 
a plate in front of Adam, then plates before Dick and 
Bob, knives and forks at each plate.) 

Adam, Now, then, bring in the apple-dowdy ! Do 
you hear that, boys ! an apple-dowdy, piping hot. I had 
it baked on purpose for you. 

Phil. (Aside.) The owld sinner ! He's full of the 
decate. Begorra, I've got a fine bed av live coals await- 
ing for these same little thaves. 

Adam. Now, then, Phil, why don't you start? 

Phil. I'm agoing. — (Aside to Adam.) Will I bring 
in the — the — you know what I mane, too. 

Adam. Bring in the dowdy at once. D'you hear? 

Phil. To be sure I do. Do yez think I'm dafe? 

\_Exit, l. 

Adam. Well, boys, I repeat, I'm right down glad 
you came to-night. It's kinder lonesome for an old man ; 
and this is raal kind in you to come. I'll try and pay 
yer fur it. 

Dick. (Aside to Bob.) With a horsewhip, I s'pect. 

Bob. (Aside to Dick.) Or the big dog. 

Adam. How slow that Phil is ! I declare, I am so 
impatient to get at that dowdy, I can't wait. Keep your 
seats, and I'll hurry up Phil. [Exit, l. 

Dick. I tell yer, boys, this is an awful scrape. 

Bob. Did you see his eyes glare? 

Dick. That confounded Irishman burnt us on purpose. 

Bob. Look at my hand. It's all blistered ! 

Dick. I know what's coming next. We're going to 
be poisoned ! 



COALS OF FIRE. 73 

Bob. O, dear ! what shall we do ? 

Charley. Do? Keep still. Watch me, and do as I 
tell you. When I cry, " Now, boys," you, Dick, grab 
that trap, and set it in the passage there. {Points l.) 
You, Bob, run for that door. {Points r.) Here's the 
key under the table-cloth. I'll get the musket and cover 
the old man. We'll see if three smart boys can't get 
themselves out of a scrape. There's some fiery torture 
preparing for us. That Phil mentioned something about 
hot coals. Hush ! somebody's coming. Mind ! quiet, 
quiet ! 

Enter Crabtree, l. 

Adam. Here it comes ! here it comes ! {Sits.) 

Enter Phil, l., with a pan-dowdy, a ladle laid across 
it, places it on the table, in front of Crabtree, and stands 
behind his chair. 

Adam. Ah, now for a glorious feast ! a glorious feast ! 
{Takes up the ladle, and drops it with a howl of pain.) 

Phil. Aisy, my b'y ; it's only a ladle. 

Adam. You blundering scamp, what does this mean, 
heating up everything in this manner? If I wanted any- 
thing particularly hot, you never would do it. 

Phil. Ah, but indade I would. — {Aside.) He manes 
the hot coals. Poor innocents ! the dowdy will scald 
them inside, and the cowls shave their heads as bald as 
babbies'. Ah, will, the way av the transgrisser is mighty 
hard, intirely. He'll want the coals nixt, and I'll go 
for 'em. [Exit, L. 

Adam. Now, Master Charley, hold your plate, and 
I'll give you some of the best apple-dowdy you ever 
tasted. (Charley points at the dish, then slowly points 



74 COALS OF FIRE. 

to his mouth, and shakes his head, with a sigh.) What ! 
you won't try it? Well, Master Dick, let's have your 
plate. (Dick performs the same pantomime.) What ! 
you, too, refuse? Why, it's the nicest dish you ever ate. 
Well, then, Master Bob, your plate. (Bob imitates Dick 
and Charley.) Well, I never ! three boys that can't 
eat. What on airth does this mean? (All three again 
perform the same pantomime, and ejaculate in chorus.)' 
Poison ! 

Adam. (In a rage.) What ! after attempting to steal 
my apples, you young scamps ; after my kindness to yer, 
taking yer inter my house, do yer dare to insult my 
victuals by calling them poison ! You bold, unblushing 
young whelps ! What do yer say to this? 

Charley. Just this, Mr. Crabtree. Now, boys ! (Dick 
jumps up, seizes the trap, and sets it at L. entrance, then 
runs to r. Bob- runs to R. Charley seizes the musket, 
runs in front of the other hoys, and poi?its it at Crab- 
tree. Now, boys, unfasten that door, quick ! 

Adam. Put down that gun ! put down that gun. 
(Jumps up on chair.) It's loaded. It might go off. 

Charley. So it might, Mr. Crabtree, and if it did, 
'twould serve you right. 

Adam. Here, Phil, Phil ! I shall be murdered ! 
Quick ! Quick ! 

Phil. (Outside, l.) I'm here, Mr. Crabtree, with the 
hot cowls. 

Enter Phil, l., with a shovel of blazing coals. (A 
little blazing alcohol is best.) He steps into trap. 

Phil. O, murther ! murther ! I'm kilt, intirely. I've 
put my fut in it, shure. O, murther ! murther ! 



COALS OF FIRE. 75 

Charley. Yes, caught in your own trap. Mr. Crab- 
tree, you're a villain ! 

Adam. Phil, what are you doing with that fire? 

Phil. Shure, it's the cowls. O, murther, my uncle 
is broke intirely. 

Adam. The coals? What do you mean? 

Phil. Shure, didn't I hear yez say yez was going fur 
to put cowls av lire on the heads of the thaves that stole 
yez apples. 

Dick. The door's open, Charley. 

" Charley. Old Crabtree, I thought you was a cross, 
mean man, but I never would have believed you could be 
so cruel. Good by. Eat your dowdy; we want none 
of it ; and we will take good care to let the whole town 
know how cruel you can be. Come, boys, let's go. 

Adam. Here, stop. It's all a mistake, I tell you. 

Phil. Bedad, this trap's no mistake ; it sticks like a 
poor man's plasther. 

Charley. It's no use, Mr. Crabtree. You're a hum- 
bug. 

Dick. A precious swindle. 

Boh. A pious fraud. 

Boys. (In chorus.) Good by, old Crabtree. (About 
to exit, r. They are met by Mr. Meek, ivho enters.) 

Mr. Meek. One moment, boys. (They fall back, look- 
ing sheepish.) Who's a humbug, swindle, and fraud? 

Phil. If yez plase, Mr. Meek, it's my masther. 

Adam. Well, Mr. Meek, I've tried your hot-coal 
dodge, and it's a failure. 

Mr. Meek. What, do I hear aright? Have you treated 
the boys kindly? 

Adam. I should think I had. There's the best I had 



76 COALS OP FIRE 

in the house, which they refuse to toucn. it may be 
Scripter, but it don't work here. 

Mr. Meek. Let me understand the situation. Boys, I 
found Mr. Crabtree was to salute you, when you came to 
steal his apples, with a charge of buckshot. I induced 
him to try the effect of a little kind treatment ; to bring 
you into the house and treat you to the best he had, 
assuring him that the boys would appreciate his kindness, 
and trouble his apples no more. 

Charley. What ! Was all this really meant for us ? 

Adam. Of course it was. 

Charley. Then we have made fools of ourselves, boys. 
Why, that Irishman abused us like pickpockets, and we 
thought the whole arrangement was to decoy us to some 
fearful punishment. 

Phil. Bedad, I was only preparing thim «for the 
torture. 

Adam. You blasted fool ! So you have been deceiv- 
ing the boys — have you ? 

Phil. Begorra, didn't yez say yez was goin' to put 
,cowls av fire on the heads av 'em with yer tarkin', and 
tarkin', and tarkin', shure? 

Mr. Meek. Ah, I see where the trouble is. Let me 
make it right. Boys, Mr. Crabtree wishes to protect his 
apples, and make friends of you all, and, in proof of his 
desire to gain your friendship, invites you to partake of 
this tempting dish. You know me, boys, and know I 
always tell you the truth. W T hat say you? Will you 
accept his hospitality? 

Charley. Gladly, Mr. Meek ; and I will say, for these 
boys and myself, that we will never trouble his apples 
again. He has given us a fright, and we have niisunder- 



COALS OF FIRE. 77 

stood him. Suppose we call it square, Mr. Crabtree, 
shake hauds, and be friends. 

Adam. To be sure, to be sure. Here you are, Char- 
ley, ftob, Dick. (Shakes hands with each.) You stand 
by me, and I'll stand by you. I have misunderstood 
you ; but I'll be a boy again, and learn how boys should 
treat each other. Forgive and forget. 

Phil. (Who has got out of the trap.) The cowls are 
cowld, the dowdy's cowld, and there's nothing hot in the 
house, except my leg, and that's shivering. Murther ! 
how it burns ! 

Adam. Well, come to the table, and we'll have a 
pleasant time, after all. But I'm rather afraid, thanks 
to that blundering Phil, that my " Coals of Fire" didn't 
work according to Scripter. 

Phil. Bedad, it's all owing to yez mitty — mitty — ■ 
what yez call it? Bad luck to it. 

Charley. Don't say that, Mr. Crabtree, for your kind- 
ness makes us regret that we ever stole your apples. 

Mr. Meek. No, Brother Crabtree, you have shown a 
kindly heart ; our boys here have discovered that stealing 
apples is no very honorable employment ; I have settled 
the only quarrel in my parish ; peace is declared, and 
friendship formed by the warmth of your Coals of Fire, 
and I call them a decided success. 

[Curtain falls. ~] 



SANTA CLAUS' FROLICS. 

A CHRISTMAS ENTERTAINMENT FOR LITTLE FOLKS. 



[The rising of the curtain discloses room, with a fireplace, 
C, on either side or above ivhich are hung stockings of 
various sizes, from the baby's little socle to Bridget's long 
and broad red, blue, or black hose. On the right <£the 
fireplace is the Christmas tree, hidden by a curtain, 
which is so arranged that it may be easily removed (or, 
if double parlors are used, or the entertainment is given 
in a hall or vestry, the tree can be -placed in one corner 
of the audience-room, and while the attention of the 
auditors is diverted by the entertainment in the other 
room, or upon the platform, the tree can be lighted). 
Six or eight children in the scene, arrayed in night 
dresses and caps, with lighted candles in their hands, 
moving about, and occasionally looking up chimney.'] 

Song. — Air, "Were all Noddin\" 

Girls. 
We're all waiting, wait, wait, waiting, 
We're all waiting for Santa Claus to come. 
To c*t^h him we're waiting ; he'll surely be here ; 
The moments fly quickly, and midnight draws near. 

79 



80 SANTA CLAUS' FROLICS. 

AIL 

We're all waiting, wait, wait, waiting, 
We're all waiting for Santa Claus to come. 

Boys. 
We're all freezing, freeze, freeze, freezing, 
We're all freezing, here, waiting in the cold ; 
For Santa to bring us our presents we wait ; 
Come, hurry, old fellow ; 'tis really quite late. 

All. 
We're all freezing, freeze, freeze, freezing, 
We're all freezing, here, waiting in the cold. 

Girls, 
We're all nodding, nod, nod, nodding, 
We're all nodding, and dropping off to sleep ; 
To our warm little beds 'tis time we should go ; 
Come, hurry, good Santa ; pray don't be so slow. 

All. 
For we're all nodding, nod, nod, nodding, 
For we're all nodding, and dropping off to sleep. 

Boys. 
We're all yawning, yaw, yaw, yawning, 
We're all yawning ; so let's go off to bed. 

Girls. 
To stay any longer we're surely unwise ; 
We'll wait for the daylight to open our eyes. 

All. 
For we're all yawning, yaw, yaw, yawnin^*- 
We're all yawning, and going off to bed. 

[Exeunt, R. and l., repeating the last two lines. 



SANTA CLAUS' FROLICS. 81 

Santa Claus peeps out from chimney, then enters. Cos- 
tume, rubber boots, with pants tucked into them; heavy 
fur coat, with red comforter tied about it ; red comforter 
ahout his neck; peaked fur cap; long gray hair and. 
beard; very red face; strapped to his back a large 
basket, filled with toys. 

Santa (looking r. and L.). 

Ho, ho, my little rogues. You set a trap 

To catch Hie napping ; now who takes the nap ? 

I'm an old schemer ; even your sharp eyes 

Could never find me in this queer disguise. 

Dream on, my darlings, while I treasures heap. 

Ho, ho ! to fill your hose while you're asleep. 

Year after year, I drop in on the sly, 

Through chimneys made for me so broad and high ; 

To pop down them is made my cheerful duty ; 

It suits me too — sometimes, almost too sooty. 

{Takes basket off back.) 

Let's see : what year is this ? why bless my eyes, 
It's 1872. — Good Gracious ! how time flies ! 
And children multiply so fast, 'tis clear, 
A partner I must have another year. 
I'm really getting old. This wrinkled phiz 
Of good old age a striking symbol is. 
And yet I'm strong, can frolic, dance, or play 
With young folks yet for many a Christmas day. 
So I'll not grumble ; while I can, I'll strive 
To let my boys and girls know I'm alive. 
What though my hair is gray, my heart is young, 
And green as Christmas boughs around me hung. 
6 



82 SANTA CLAUS' FROLICS. 

Song. — Santa Claus. Air, " Captain Jinks.' 9 

I'm Santa Clans, the Christmas king, 
And every year I gayly sing, 
Ho, boys and girls, to you I bring 
Such lots of Christmas Presents ; 
A clipper sled, for merry Ned, 
For merry Ned, for merry Ned, 
A waxen doll, for pretty Poll, 
You'll find among my treasures. 

(Spoken.) But, bless you, I don't sing very loud, for 
I know that " Little pitchers have big ears," and I 
wouldn't have them hear me for the world. Ah, many 
and many a time I've heard a soft voice in the middle 
of the night, cry out, " Who's there? " Ah, ha ! Then 
I creep about softly, and sing very low, — 
I'm Santa Claus, &c. 

• The boys and girls in me delight, 
In me delight, in me delight; 
They hang their stockings in the night 
To wait my midnight coming. 
With generous store I fill them all, 
I fill them all, I fill them all ; 
With generous store I fill them all, 
And creep off in the morning. 

(Spoken.) For, bless the dear little rogues, they're 
only half asleep. Wouldn't they like to catch me ! But 
no, no, I'm away up the chimney, and when morning 
comes I peep in, and hear them cry, u Why, who has 



SANTA CLAUS' FROLICS. 83 

been here, and left these beautiful presents ? " All*, ha ! 

then I sing, — 

Why, Santa Claus, the Christmas king, 
Who every year doth gayly sing, &c. 

{Children sing outside,) 

We're all dreaming, dream, dream, dreaming, 
We're all dreaming that Santa Claus has come. 

Santa. 
Dream on, my darlings, unto each of you 
Morn shall bring joy ; your dreams shall all be true. 
Here are the stockings ; bless me, what a row ! 
Little and big, they make a wondrous show. 
(As he speaks he Jills stockings.) 

First comes the baby's ; what a tiny thing ! 
'Twill just hold a rattle and a rubber ring ; 
This is a girl's, so very neat and small ; 
I'll stuff it with candy, and a pretty doll. 
' Ah ! here's a boy's. It's very strong and blue. 
A nice new pair of skates, my lad, for you ; 
Another girl's. What can I find to please her? 
Ah, here's a tea set ; don't think that's a teaser. 
Another boy's ! Ho, this will never do, — 
Hole in the heel ; a present would drop through ; 
A ball of yarn will make him wiser grow ; 
'Twill mend his stocking and his habits too. 
What monster's this ? It must be Bridget's, sure ; 
'T would hold all I have brought, I fear much more. 
A nice new gingham dress — a good warm shawl — 
Don't fill it — then here goes a waterfall. 



84 SANTA CLAUS' FROLIC. 

And now I'm off. (Sees audience.) Hallo! whom 

have we here? 
I really am found out ; that's very clear. 
Now don't expose me, for I did not mean 
Upon my annual visit to be seen. 
If you are all my children, 'tis not fair 
To tell my secrets even to the air ; 
So keep them close ; don't whisper I've been here ; 
And shut your eyes ; I'm going to disappear. 
With u Merry Christmas" wishes all I greet, 
Hoping next year my visit to repeat. 
And now good night — I'm off. Yet ere I go, 
A little magic I propose to show. 
Shut fast your eyes a minute — one, two, three. 
Presto ! change ! Behold the Christmas tree. 

(The Christmas tree is suddenly disclosed. Santa Glaus 
approaches it, and distributes presents.) 



A STITCH IN TIME SAVES NINE. 



CHARACTERS. 
Fred and Lizzie . 



Enter Lizzie, l., and Fred, r. 

Fred. Dear Lizzie, I've torn a hole in my jacket. 

Lizzie. No matter. I've my needle and thread here, 
and I'll soon mend it. 

Fred. O, no ! I can't stop ; the boys are waiting for 
me to make up a game of base ball. It's no conse- 
quence. 

Lizzie. O, yes, it is. Remember the old saying, " A 
stitch in time saves nine." 

Fred. Do you believe that, Lizzie ? 

Lizzie. To be sure I do, and I'll prove it while I am 
mending your jacket. (Seius ivliile they are speaking.) 
Didn't mother send you somewhere when you left the 
house? 

Fred. Dear me, Lizzie ! she sent me to Mrs. Dobson, 
and I forgot all about it. I must go right away. 

Lizzie. Stop a moment; I haven't finished. Didn't 
father send you to the store for something? 

Fred. O, dear ! what a ninny I am ! He wants 
corn for the horses right away. I must go at once. 

85 



86 A STITCH IN TIME SAVES NINE. 

Lizzie. Stop, stop. How did you succeed with your 
music lesson? 

Fred. I declare, I forgot it. 

Lizzie. You didn't forget to water the flowers? 

Fred. Yes, I did, though. 

Lizzie. Why, Fred ; I shouldn't wonder if you forgot 
to feed the canaries. 

Fred. I did, Lizzie, just as sure as you are alive. 

Lizzie. You've learned your lesson for to-morrow? 

Fred. No, I haven't. 

Lizzie. Brought in the kindlings for Mary? 

Fred. No. 

Lizzie. O Fred ! my buttons you were to get from 
the store? 

Fred. Forgot them. 

Lizzie. Well, no matter, if you did not forget the 
thread for aunt Jane. 

Fred. But I did, Lizzie ; I wanted to join the boys 
in a game of ball, and forgot everything. 

Lizzie. There, Fred, your jacket is mended. 

Fred. Thank you, Lizzie. 

Lizzie. It was a very small hole, but by having it 
mended you have saved ninfj stitches. 

Fred. Nine stitches ! How? 

Lizzie. By having it mended now, there is no danger 
of its growing larger, and requiring more work to mend 
it. Then there's the message to Mrs. Dobson, one ; 
father's corn, two ; the music lesson, three ; watering 
the flowers, four ; feeding the canaries, five ; your lesson 
for to-morrow, six ; the kindlings for Mary, seven ; my 
buttons, eight ; aunt Jane's thread, nine ; all of which 



A STITCH IN TIME SAVES NINE. 



87 



you had forgotten, and which you will now do, thus saving 
yourself nine stitches of pain, which you would have felt 
had you neglected them. 

Fred. I'm glad I stopped. I should have been sorry. 
I shall remember, after this, that — what did you say 
the old saying was ? 

Lizzie. " A stitch in time saves nine." 

\_Exeunt. 



THE RED CHIGNON. 

(for female characters only.) 



CHARACTERS. 



, .. -r, -p, C Principal of a genteel Boarding 

Miss Priscilla Precise, J gc J ol for yQ s ung Ladieg _ 

Hetty Gray, ") 

Fanny Rice, I 

Lizzie Bond, i 

Hannah Jones, J 

Mrs. Lofty, a fashionable Lady. 

Scene. — Parlor *in Miss Precise's Establishment. 
Piano R., Lounge L., Chairs c. 

^?i^er Hetty, Fanny, emd Lizzie, r., laughing. 

Hetty. O, such a fright ! 

Fanny. Such a stupid ! 

Lizzie. I never saw such a ridiculous figure in the 
whole course of my life ! 

Hetty. I should think she came from the backwoods. 

Fanny. Who is she, any way? 

Lizzie. She's the daughter of the rich Mr. Jones, a 
man, who, three years ago, was the proprietor of a very 
small saw-mill away down east. He managed to scrape 
together a little money, which he invested in certain rail- 

89 



SO THE RED CHIGNON. 

road stocks, which nobody thought would ever pay. 
They did, however, aud he has, no doubt to his owu 
astonishment, made a great deal of money. 

Hetty. And that accounts for Miss Precise's partiali- 
ty. Well, I'm not going to associate myself with her ; 
and I mean to write to father this very day, and tell him 
to take me home. She dresses so ridiculously ! 

Lizzie. And talks so horridly ! 

Fanny. And plays so wretchedly ! 

Hetty. O, girls, don't you think I caught her at the 
piano this morning playing Yankee Doodle and whistling 
an accompaniment ! # 

Fanny. Whistling ! 

Lizzie. Good gracious ! what would Miss Precise say. 
If there's anything she forbids, it's whistling. 

Hetty. Yes, and such a reader ! I heard her reciting 
Longfellow's Excelsior ; and such reading, and such ges- 
tures ! (Becites.) 

"The shades of night were falling fast, 
As through an All-pine village past — * 
{All laugh.) 

Fanny. O, it's ridiculous ! 

Lizzie. And then her dress ! O, girls, I've made a 
discovery ! 

Fanny. What is it? What is it? 

Hetty. O, do tell us I 

Lizzie. Well, then, you must be secret. 

Fanny and lletty. Of course, of course ! 

IAzzie. Well, yesterday, at just twelve o'clock, I was 
in the hall ; the door-bell rang ; I opened it ; there was a 
box for Miss Hannah Jones ; I took it ; I carried it to 
her room ; I opened — 



1 
] 



THE RED CHIGNON. 91 

Fanny and Hetty, The box? 

Lizzie. The door ; she wasn't there. I put it on the 
table; it slipped off; the cover rolled off; and such a 
sight ! 

Fanny. What was it? 

Hetty. O, do tell u»\ 

Lizzie. Four — great — red — 

Fanny and Hetty. What? What? 

Lizzie. ChigDons ! 

Hetty. Chignons? Why, Miss Precise has forbidden 
our wearing them. 
X Fanny. O, it's horrible ! 

Lizzie. Ain't it? And I did want one so bad ! 

Hetty. But she cannot wear them. 

Lizzie. We shall see ! Now comes Miss Precise's 
trial. She has taken Hannah Jones because her fi 'le* 
is rich. She worships money ; but if there is anything 
she hates, it is chignons. If she can stand this, test, it 
will be the best thing in the world for us. Then we'll 
all have tnem. 

Hetty. Of course we will. 

Fanny. But I don't like the idea of having such an 
interloper here. She's no company for us. 

Enter Miss Precise, l. She stands behind the Girls 
with folded arms. 
Hetty. Indeed she isn't ! I think Miss Precise is real 
lp allow her to stay. 

tter go where she belongs — among 

, whom are you consigning to 
s, young ladies? 




92 THE RED CHIGNON. 

Hetty. Good gracious ! 

Fanny. O, dear ! O, dear ! 

Lizzie. O, who'd have thought! {They separate, 
Hetty and Fanny, l., Lizzie, r., Miss Precise, c.) 

Miss P. Speak, young ladies ; upon whom has your 
dread anathema been bestowed? 

Lizzie. Well, Miss Precise, if I must tell, it's that 
hateful new pupil, Miss Jones. I detest her. 

Fanny. I can't abide her. 

Hetty. She's horrible ! 

Lizzie. So awkward ! 

Fanny, zz^Fvflks so badly ! 

Hetty. And dresses so ridiculously ! 

Lizzie. If she stays here, I shan't ! 

Fanny. >7cr I. 

Hetty. Nor I. 

Miss P. Young ladies, are you pupils of the finest 
finishing-school in the city? Are you being nursed at 
the fount of learning? Are you being led in the paths 
of literature by my fostering hands ? 

Lizzie. Don't know. S'pose so. 

Miss P. S'pose so ! What language ! S'pose so ! Is 
this the fruit of my teaching? Young ladies, I blush for 
you ! — you, who should be the patterns of propriety ! Let 
me hear no more of this. Miss Jones is the daughter of 
one of the richest men in the city, and, as such, she should 
be respected by you. 

Lizzie. She's a low, ignorant girl. 

Miss^ P. Miss Bond ! 

Hetty. With arms like a windmill] 

Miss P. Miss Gray ! 

Fanny. A voice like a 




THE RED CHICNON. 93 

Miss F. Miss Rice ! 

Hetty, Lizzie, and Fanny, O, she's awful ! 

Miss P. Young ladies ! I'm astonished ! I'm shocked ! 
I'm thunderstruck ! Miss Jones is my pupil. She is 
your associate. As such, you will respect her. Let me 
hear no more of this. Go to your studies. I highly 
respect Miss Jones. Imitate her. She's not given to 
conspiracies. She's not forever gossiping. Be like her, 
and you will deserve my respect. To your studies. Miss 
Jones is a model for your imitation. [Exit, l. 

Hetty. Did you ever ! 

Fanny. No, I never ! 

Lizzie. A model for imitation ! Girls, we'll have 
some fun out of this. Imitate Miss Jones ! I only hope 
she'll put on one of her chignons. [Exeunt. 

Enter Hannah Jones, r., extravagantly dressed, tvith a 
red chignon, followed by Mrs. Lofty. 

Hannah. Come right in, marm ; Ois is our setting- 
room, where w^ deceive cullsKL T^ke a seat. (Mrs. 

Lofty sife n lounge.) 

Kfsl Lofty. Will you please call your mistress at 

ice? 

Hannah. My mistress? Law, neow, I s'pose yeou 
take me for a hired gal. Yeou make me laugh ! Why, 
my pa's richer than all the rest of 'em's pas put together. 
I deon't look quite so scrumptious as the rest on 'em, 
p'r'aps, but I'm one of the scholars here. 

Mrs. L. I beg your pardon. No offence was intended. 

Hannah. Law, I don't mind it. Yeou see our folks 
come from deown east, and we haven't quite got the hang 
of rich folks yit. That's why I'm here to git polished 



9-4 THE RED CHIGNON. 

up. Miss Precise is the schoolmarm ; -but she's so stiff, 
I don't expect she'll make much of me. I do hate airs. 
She makes the girls tend tu door, because she's too poor 
to beep help. 

Mrs. L. Will you please speak to her? I have not 
much time to spare, as^this is my charity day. 

Hannah. Charity day ! Pray, what's that ? 

Mrs. L. I devote one day in the week to visiting 
poor people, and doing what I can to alleviate their mis- 
fortunes. 

Hannah. Well, marm, that's real clever in you. I 
do like to see rich folks look arter the poor ones. Won't 
you please to let me help you ? I don't know the way 
among the poor yit, but I'm going to find out. Here's 
my pocket-book; there's lots uv money in it; and if 
you'll take and use it for the poor foMis, I'll be obleeged. 
(Gives pocket-book.) 

Mrs. L. O, thank you, thank you ! you are very kind ; 
I v, 111 use it, for I know just where it is needed. Can 
you really spare it ? . _ ' 

Hannah. Spare it ? Of course I can. I kHC w where 
to git lots more; and my pa says, 'What's the v^ of 
having money, if you don't do good with it?' Law,"? 
forgot all about Miss Precise. You just make yourself 
to home, and I'll call her. [Exit, l. 

Mrs. L. A rough diamond. Sire has a kind heart, I 
hope she'll not be spoiled in the hands of Miss Precise. 
(Opens pocket-book.) What a roll of bills! I must 
speak to Miss Precise before I use her money. She 
may not be at liberty to dispose of it in this wholesale 
manner. 



THE RED CHIGNON. 95 

Enter Miss Precise, l. 

Miss P. My clear Mrs. Lofty, I hope I have not 
kept you waiting. (SJiakes hands with her, then sits in 
chair, c.) 

Mrs. L. O, no ; though I'm in something of a hurry. 
I called to ask you if you could take my daughter as a 
pupil. 

Miss P. Well, I am rather full just now ; and the 
duties of instructor are so arduous, and I am so feeble 
in health — 

Mrs. L. O, don't let me add to your trials. I will 
look elsewhere. 

Miss P. Xo, no ; you did not hear me out. I was 
going to say I have decided to take but one more pupil. 

Mrs. L. What are the studies ? 

ALissJP. English branches, French, Italian, German, 
and Spanish languages, and music ; all taught under my 
personal supervision. 

3Irs. L. Quite an array of studies ; almost too much 
for one teacher. 

Miss P. Ah, Mrs. Lofty, the mind — the mind is 
capable of great expansion ; ,and to one gifted with the 
power to lead the young in the flowery paths of learning, 
no toil is too difficult. My school is select, refined ; 
nothiug rough or improper is allowed to mingle with the 
high-toned elements with which I endeavor to form a 
fashionable education. 

Mrs. L. I should like to see some of your pupils. 

Miss P. O, certainly. -You will take them unawares ; 
but I flatter myself you will not find them unprepared. 
(Strikes bell on piano.) 



96 THE RED CHIGNON. 

Enter Fanny, dressed as before, but ivith a large, red 
chignon on her head. 

Miss P. This is Miss Fanny Rice. Mrs. Lofty, Fanny. 
There you see one of my pupils who has an exquisite 
touch for the piano, a refined, delicate appreciation of the 
sweetest strains of the great masters. Fanny, my dear, 
take your place at the piano, and play one of those pieces 
which you know I most admire. (Fanny sits at piano, 
plays Yankee Doodle, whistling an accompaniment,) 
What does this mean ? ( Turns and looks at Fanny, 
starts, puts her eye-glass to her eye. — Aside.) Heavens ! 
that child has one of those horrible chignons on her 
head ! — (Aloud.) Miss Rice, why did you make that 
selection ? 

Fanny. (Imitates Hannah's manner of speaking.) 
Cos I thought you'd like it. 

- Miss P. « Cos " ? O, I shall die ! And why did you 
think I should like it? 

Fanny. Cos that's the way Hannah Jones does. 

Miss P. Send Miss Gray to me. (Follows Fanny to 
door.) And take that flaming turban off your head. 
I'll pay you for this ! [Exit Fanny, l. 

Mrs. L. Your pupil is exceedingly patriotic in her 
selection. 

Miss P. Yes ; there's some mistake here. She's evi- 
dently not on her good behavior. 

Enter Hetty Gray, l., with red chignon. 

Ah, here's Miss Gray. Mrs. Lofty, Miss Gray. She 
has a sweet voice, and sings sentimental songs in a be- 
witching manner. Miss Gray, take your place at the 
piano, and sing one of my favorites. 



THE RED CHIGNON. 97 

(Hetty sits at piano, plays and sings,) 

'* Father aiid I went down to eamp 
Along with Captain Goodin, 
And there we saw the boys and girls 
As thick as hasty-pudding J 

Miss P. Stop ! (Looks at her through eye-glass.) 
She's got one of those hateful things on too — chignons ! 
Is there a conspiracy ? Miss Gray, who taught you that 
song? 

Hetty. Miss Hannah Jones, if you please. 

31iss P. Go back to your studies, and send Miss Bond 
to me. (Takes her by the ear, and leads her to the door.) 

Hetty. Ovv ! you hurt ! 

Miss P. Silence, miss ! Take off that horrid head- 
dress at once. [Exit Hetty, l. 
Mrs. Lofty, how can I find words to express my indig- 
nation at the conduct of my pupils? I assure you, this 
is something out of the common course. 

Enter Lizzie, l., with red chignon. 

Here is one of my smartest pupils, Miss Bond. Mrs. 
Lofty, Miss Bond. She particularly excels in reading. 
Miss Bond, take a book from the piano and read ; some- 
thing sweet and pathetic I something that you think 
would suit me. 

Lizzie takes a position, l., opens book, and reads, in im- 
mitation of PIannah's voice. 
Lizzie. What is it that salutes the light, 

Making the heads of mortals bright, 
And proves attractive to the sight? 
My chignon. 
7 



98 THE RED CHIGNON. 

Miss P. Good gracious ! is the girl mad ? ■ 

Lizzie. What moves the heart of Miss Precise 
To throw aside all prejudice, 
And gently whisper, It is nice ? 
My chignon ! 

Miss P. Chignon, indeed ! Who taught you to read 
in that manner ? 

Lizzie. Hannah Jones. 

Miss P. O, this is too bad ! You, too, with one of 
these horrid things on your head? (Snatches it off, and 
beats her on head with it.) Back to your room ! You 
shall suffer for this ! [Exit Lizzie, l. 

Mrs. L. Excuse me, Miss Precise, but your pupils 
all wear red chignons. Pray, is this a uniform you have 
adopted in your school? 

Miss P. 0, Mrs. Lofty, I'm dying with mortification ! 
Chignons ! I detest them ; and my positive orders to my 
pupils are, never to wear them in the house. 

Hannah. (Outside, L.) Wal, we'll see what Miss 
Precise will say to this. 

Enters with a red chignon in each hand, followed by 
Lizzie, Hetty, and Fanny. 

Miss P. Good gracious ! More of these horrid things ! 

Hannah. Miss Precise, jest look at them ! Here 
these pesky girls have been rummaging my boxes, and. 
putting on my best chignons that pa sent me only yester- 
day. Look at them ! They're teetotally ruined ! 

Miss P. Why, Miss Jones, you've got one on your 
head now ! 

Hannah. Of course I have. Have you got anything 
to say against it? 



THE RED CHIGNON. 99 

Miss P, O, no ; only it don't match your hair. 

Hannah, What of that? Pa always goes for the 
bright colors, and so do I. 

Lizzie, Miss Precise, I thought pupils were forbidden 
to wear them. 

Miss P. Well, yes — no — I must make exceptions. 
Miss Jones has permission to wear them. 

Lizzie, Then I want permission. 

Hetty, And so do I. 

Fanny, And so do I. 

Miss P. First tell me what is the meaning of this 
scene we have just had. 

Lizzie, Scene ? Why, didn't you tell us to take Miss 
Jones as a model for imitation? Haven't we done it? 

Miss P, But Miss Jones doesn't whistle. 

Hannah. Whistle? I bet I can. Want to hear me? 

Miss P, No.. She don't sing comic songs. 

Hannah, Yes, she does. 

Lizzie, Yes, aud she wears chignons. As we must 
imitate ber, and hadn't any of our own, we appropriated 
hers. 

Miss P. Shame, shame ! What will Mrs. Lofty 
say ? 

Mrs, L, That she rather enjoyed it. I saw mischief 
in their eyes as they came in. And now, girls, I'm 
going to tell you what Miss Jones does that you dorit 
know. A short time ago she placed in my hands her 
pocket-book, containing a large roll of bills, to be dis- 
tributed among the poor. 

Lizzie, Why, isn't she splendid? 

Hetty, Why, she's " mag." 

Fanny, O, you dear old Hannah. {Kisses her.) 



100 THE RED CHIGNON. 

Mrs. L. I'm going to send my daughter here to 
school, and I shall tell her to make all the friends she 
can ; but her first friend must be Hannah Jones. 

Hannah. Well, I'm sure, I'm obleeged to you. 

Lizzie. O, Miss Precise, we are so sorry we have 
acted so! Let us try again, and show Mrs. Lofty that 
we have benefited by your instruction. 

Miss P. Not now. If Mrs. Lofty will call again, we 
will try to entertain her. I see I was in the wrong to 
give you such general directions. I say now, imitate 
Hannah Jones — her warm heart, her generous hand. 

Mrs. L. And help her, by your friendship, to acquire 
the knowledge which Miss Precise so ably dispenses. 

Lizzie. We will, we will. 

Miss P. Only, ladies, avoid whistling. 

Hetty. Of course, of course. 

Miss P. And comic songs ! 

Fanny. O, certainly. 

Lizzie. And there is one more thing we shall be sure 
to avoid. , 

Miss P. What is that? 

Lizzie. The wearing of red chignons. 

[Exeunt. 



USING THE "WEED." 

(for female characters only.) 



CHARACTERS. 



Miss Betty Bookworm, Principal of a Young Ladies' School. 

Mary Jam.es. ^ 

Fanny Young. 

Clarissa Harlowe Smithers. 

Miss Paulina Smithers, ) Guardians of Clarissa, twins, 

Miss Roberta Smithers, 5 about thirty-five. 

Mrs. Starch, Miss Bookworm's Assistant. 

Scene. — Room in Miss Bookworm's house, c. Sewing 
Machine, at ivhichjis seated Clarissa. Mary seated, r., 
embroidering. Fanny seated, l., cr ot dieting . Arm- 
chair r. c, with small table beside it, on which is a bell. 

Mary. I declare, Clari, you will wear yourself out at 
the sewing machine. 

Fanny. Your devoted attachment to that useful but 
tiresome instrument is really surprising. 

Clarissa. Law, girls, I shall never tire of it. You 
know it is a novelty to me. 

Fanny. Novelty ! Why, I imagined there was not a 
family in the world without one. 

Mary. Mother has had one ever since I can recollect. 

101 



102 USING THE WEED. 

Fanny, The idea that a young lady, with such a 
romantic name as Clarissa Harlowe Smithers, should 
become such a devoted slave to the needle and treadle is 
very surprising. 

Mary. It's past belief. 

Clarissa. Romantic ! There's nothing about me ro- 
mantic except my name, and I'm not to blame for that. 
You must know, girls, that I lost my father and mother 
when I was very young ; and in the distribution of 
property occasioned by their decease, I fell to the lot 
of a couple of spinster aunts. I believe my name was 
originally Clara ; but by them I was rechristened, and 
made to answer to the absurd name of Clarissa Harlowe. 
The old fussies ! 

Mary. Meaning your respected guardians. 

Fanny. Who, I believe, are twins. 

Clarissa. Yes, indeed ; the twinnest of twins. O, you 
would laugh to see them. They dress alike, walk, move, 
and talk alike. It is fun to plague them ! I should so 
like to have been present when they read my last letter ! 

Fanny. And, pray, what was there in that to plague ? 

Clarissa. One little sentence that will make them 
fidget, I think. I told them that I had just learned to 
use the weed. 

Fanny. What ! 

Mary. You don't mean to say that you use tobacco ? 

Clarissa. Of course not. How stupid you are ! 
Can't you understand? I meant the " Weed Sewing 
Machine." 

Fanny. O, is that all? 

Mary. Gracious ! How you would shock Miss Book- 
worm with such language ! 



USING THE WEED. 103 

Clarissa. Not more than I did my guardians. How 
I should like to have seen them as they read that 
sentence ! 

Enter Mrs. Starch, l. She is very straight and prim ; 
walks in smart, gives a military salute, and speaks short 
and jerky. 

Mrs. Starch. Miss James, — Miss Young, — Miss 
Smithers. — Attention ! — Orders of the day. — Needles 
till ten ; — books till twelve ; — lunch till one ; — walk 
in the garden till five ; — and — don't touch the goose- 
berries. (Salutes, turns, and exit, R.) 

Mary. Poor Mrs. Starch — 

Fanny. What a walking tombstone to the memory of 
her dead and gone husband ! 

Clarissa. The dear departed was a soldier, I believe. 

Mary. Yes ; what in the army was called a martinet, 
although he was but a private. She was obliged to 
learn and practise the tactics of a soldier, and, as you 
see, the old habit still clings to her. 

Enter Miss Bookworm, r. The other characters rise. 

Miss Bookworm. (Very affected.) Young ladies, the 
swiftly-moving hand that marks upon the dial the prog- 
ress of time, now rests, with airy touch, upon the hour 
of ten. To your books. (Mary and Fanny go r., 
Clarissa l.) One moment pause. It is my humble 
task to twine, I trust with no unskilful hands, the ten- 
drils of your youthful minds about the massive pillars of 
wisdom — to train you in those graceful and delightful 
ways that make the young and lovely a — a — a — I 
mean " a thing of beauty and a joy forever." It is my 



104 USING THE WEED. 

especial desire that you should be graceful in deportment 
and choice in language, for it is my proud boast that no 
pupil of mine ever made use of a single unladylike ex- 
pression. Remember, I trust implicitly in you. You 
may go. 

Mary. {To Fanny.) Isn't that beautiful? 

Fanny. {To Mary.) O, it's jolly. If you only like 
it. \Exit, r. 

Clarissa. {Aside.) I'm going to have some of those 
gooseberries, if I die for it. [Exit, l. 

Miss B. {Sitting in arm-chair.) Beautiful creatures ! 
It is such a privilege to guide their tender steps ! (I 
wonder why Mr. James don't send the money for Mary's 
last quarter!) So congenial to my cultivated taste to 
nurture these youthful aspirations ! (If Mr. Young 
doesn't pay up more promptly, I shall send that girl 
straight home.) So sweet, so tender, so respectful ! 
{Looks off, R.) I declare ! Miss Smithers is picking off 
gooseberries. {Touches bell.) The forward, impudent 
minx. 

Enter Mrs. Starch, l., salutes. 

Starch ! 

Starch. {Saluting.) Marm. 

Miss B. Didn't I tell you to have an eye on those 
gooseberries ? 

Starch. Yes, marm — did. Two eyes, marm. 

Miss B. And yet I see Miss Smithers devouring 
them. O, Starch ! Ungrateful Starch ! 

Starch. Never, marm ! — Shoulder broomstick ! — 
March ! — Garden. — Charge Smithers ! — Save goose- 
berries. • {Salutes.) \Exity L. 

Miss B. O, this is too much, after my watchful care, 



USING THE WEED. 105 

to be thus betrayed ! That girl shall be charged for 
those gooseberries in the very next bill. 

Enter Starch, l., with a broom. 

Starch. Smithers — in full retreat — mouth full of 
gooseberries. 

Miss B. Do not let this occur again, Starch ; re- 
member ! [Exit, r. 

Starch. Yes, marm. (Salutes; shoulders broomstick, 
and about to march off, l., when enter Miss Paulina and 
Miss Roberta, l. ; they are dressed 'precisely alike, rather 
old-fashioned ; each ivith an umbrella and a band-box.) 

Starch. (Presenting broom.) Halt! Who goes there ? 

Miss Paulina. Goodness gracious ! 

Miss Roberta. Gracious goodness ! 

Miss P. It's a grannydeer. 

Miss R. It's a centenary. 

Starch. Speak ! Who are you? What do you want? 

Miss P. Miss Bookworm ! 

Miss R. Miss Bucknam ! 

Starch. Sit down — call her — eyes right ! 'bout 
face ! March ! [Turns, and exit, r. 

Miss P. Roberta ! 

Miss R. Paulina ! 
**—-Miss P. That are thing's a lunatic ! 

Miss R. Stark, staring crazy ! 

Miss P. To think that our child — our darling Cla- 
rissa — 

Miss R. Harlowe — &~\ 

Miss P. Smithers should be in such a place as this ! 
Roberta, I smell a pipe ! It's horrible ! 

Miss R. I smell tobacco ! Vile tobacco ! It's awful ! 



106 USING THE WEED. 

Miss P. To think that we should have been so de- 
ceived in Miss Bookworm, after the high recommenda- 
tions she gave us ! 

Miss P. And the stifikits, and the recipes, and the 
prescriptions advertised ! 

Miss P. I shall never have no more confidence in 
human nature. 

Miss P. No ; all my hopes of the critter is blasted. 

Miss P. We must take her away from this place. 

Miss P. Yes, cart her off home again. 

Miss P. Here comes the deceitful thing ! Calm your- 
self, Roberta, and let us meet her with the scorn she 
merits. (Sits, R.) 

Miss P. Yes, indeed ; I brought my umbaril on pur- 
pose. (Sits, l.) 

Enter Miss Bookworm, r., followed-, by Starch. 

Miss B. Good morning, ladies ; you are welcome to 
this sequestered spot, where learning meditates. 

Miss P. (Aside.) Fiddlestick's end ! What palaver ! 

Miss P. {Aside.) Gracious ! there's that centenary 
again ! 

Miss P. (Takes arm-chair and sits, c. ; Starch be- 
hind her chair.) To what do I owe the pleasure of this 
visit? (Miss R. and Miss P. look straight before them, 
and do not answer.) 

Starch. ' ( Very loud.) Attention ! Company ! 

Miss P. (Starting.) Mercy! 

Miss P. {Starting.) Gracious ! 

Miss P. Starch ! Ladies, your business with me ! 
Your names, if you please. 

Miss P. Miss Paulina Smithers. 



USING THE WEED. 107 

Miss R. Miss Roberta Smithers. 

Miss B. The guardians of our dear Clarissa Har- 
lowe. 

Miss P. Dear Fiddlesticks ! 

Miss R. Dear Humbug ! 

Starch. Gooseberries ! 

Miss B. Starch ! 

Miss P. So, madam, your fine recommendations are 
a deceit. 

Miss R. Your recipes a vain delusion. 

Miss P. You call this a finishing school — do you ? 

Miss R. The grove of learning, hey? 

Miss P. Where young ladies are taught graceful ac- 
complishments. 

Miss R. And crotchit, and darning, and picklehom- 
mini painting. 

Miss B. What do you mean, ladies? You bewilder 
me. It is my proud boast that everything which belongs 
to the polite arts is taught in this establishment. 
— Miss P. Including the use of the weed. 

Miss R. Pipes and tobacco, sugarettes and mere 
shams. 

Miss B. Pipes, w r eed — what do you mean ! 

Miss P. That you are found out. Didn't we, too 
confiding guardians of Clarissa Harlowe Smithers, place 
her in your charge for instruction? 

Miss R. And didn't you charge outrageously for it ? 

Miss B. I have taken Miss Smithers into my school, 
where she is being reared in the most tender manner. 

Miss R. Tender manner ! Look at this letter ! {Pro- 
ducing letter.) See what she writes : " Among the many 
accomplishments taught by Miss Bookworm, I have 



108 USING THE WEED. 

learned to use the weed." Ain't you ashamed of your- 
self ? 

Miss B. Miss Paulina — 

Miss R. Yes, you wicked woman, we've fouud you 
out ; and we've come to take our dear Clarissa Harlowe 
away from your horrid school. 

Miss B. Miss Roberta — 

Miss P. and Miss R. (Together) O, don't try to 
palaver ! 

Miss B. I do not understand you. Do you mean to 
tell me that one of the pupils of this refined and ac- 
complished school penned that sentence. 

Miss P. Here it is. 

Miss R. In black and white. 

Miss B. I will investigate this at once. (Strikes 
bell.) There is some mistake, be assured. 

Enter, r., Mary and Fanny ; l., Clarissa. 

Clarissa. Why, aunt Paulina! {Runs towards her.) 

Miss P. (Points her umbrella at her.) Stand back, 
deceitful child ! 

Clarissa. (Turns, and sees Miss R.) And Aunt Ro- 
berta too. (Runs towards her.) 

Miss R. (Points her umbrella.) Stand back, you 
naughty, naughty girl ! 

Clarissa. Why, what is the meaning of this? 

Mary. Your relatives don't seem glad to see you, Clari. 

Fanny. Ask them to take off their things, Clari. 

Miss B. Miss Smithers, I am grieved to say you stand 
before me as a culprit. The tears well up to my eyes as 
I say it. 

Miss P. Hem ! crocodile tears. 



USING THE WEED. 109 

Miss B. Don't sniffle ; it don't become you. 

Miss B. I am mortified that a pupil of mine should 
have the bad taste to indite so vulgar a sentiment as that 
which you sent to your respected relatives. 

Clarissa. And pray, may I inquire what it was ? 

Miss B. You told them, in that letter, that you had 
learned to use — I cannot speak the word — that you had 
learned to use the — the — it really brings the blush of 
shame to my cheeks — the — the — 

Starch. {Very loud.) The weed ! 

Miss P. (Starting.) Goodness gracious ! 

Miss B. (Starting.) Gracious goodness ! 

Mary. O, Clari ! How could you? 

Fanny. O, Clari ! Who would have thought it? 

Clarissa. (Aside.) O, isn't this fun ! (Aloud.) Miss 
Bookworm, with contrition I do confess I did write that 
sentence. 

Miss B. Unhappy child ! 

Clarissa. And I must make the further confession that 
it was by your own commands I learned to use the weed. 

Miss B. You wicked girl ! 

Miss P. I knew it ! I knew it ! O, you deceitful 
thing ! 

Miss B. You good-for-nothin' ! I'll break my urn- 
baril on your head ! 

Miss P. And so will I. 'Twill serve you right. 

(Both advance to Miss Z?., with uplifted umbrellas.) 

Starch. (Stepping between, with uplifted broom.) 
Home guard, to the rescue ! 

Clarissa. Stop ! My good aunties, before you use 
your weapoos, listen to another confession. What I 
have learned to use, I have learned to love. 



110 USING THE WEED. 

Miss P. The poor, misguided girl ! 

Hiss B. She's as crazy as that soldier woman. 

Clarissa. And you shall love it too. It is the jewel 
of industry, the pearl of great price. (Points c.) Look 
at it. The " Weed Sewing Machine." 

Miss B. What do I hear? 

Miss P. What ! And there ain't no pipes and to- 
bacco? 

Miss B. Nor mere shams and sugarettes ? 

Clarissa. Ah, aunties, I caught you napping this 
time ! Could you think that your own darling, who 
remembers, with a grateful heart, your kind care and 
attention, could be guilty of anything worse than a very 
poor pun ? 

Miss P. Clarissa ! 

Miss B. Clarissa Harlowe ! 

Miss P. and Miss B. Clarissa Harlowe Smithers ! 

Clarissa. Well, aunties. 

Miss P. Come right here and kiss me. 

Miss B. And me too, before I blubber. 
( Clarissa kisses both.) 

Clarissa. Miss Bookworm, I must ask your forgive- 
ness for my folly. 

Miss B. You have it, my child, though you have 
given me a terrible fright. For you know there is noth- 
ing that I condemn more in my pupils than such ex- 
pressions as you have made use of. Do not repeat it 
again. 

Clarissa. I will try, Miss Bookworm ; but you know 
there is nothing I like so much as a good joke. 

Starch. Yes, there is. 

Clarissa. Ah, indeed! Well, Starch, what is it? 



USING THE WEED. Ill 

Starch. Gooseberries. 

Mary. 0, Clari, have you been at the gooseberries? 

Fanny. Without letting us know ! That is too bad. 

Miss B. Young ladies ! 

Miss P. Well, Roberta, what shall we do? "We've 
had a tramp up here for nothing. 4 

Miss B. Well, PauliDa, we'll have to take our band- 
boxes and our umbarils, and tramp home again ; 
that's all. 

31iss B. No, ladies ; be my guests for a few days. 
It will be a pleasure to me to show you the perfect 
working of my school — the harmony which prevails, the 
proficiency of my pupils, and their correct and polished 
manners. 

Clarissa. O, do, aunties ! I'll show you all over the 
place ; and we'll have such a splendid time ! — won't we, 
girls ? 

Fanny. Yes, indeed ; you must stay, ladies. 

Mary. We'll do our best to make your stay pleasant. 

Clarissa. Yes, aunties, and when you are tired with 
sight-seeing, I'll show you how I found happiness. 

Miss P. How was that, Clari? 

Clarissa. In learning to use the weed. 



J 



A LOVE OF A BONNET. 

(fob female characters only.) 



CHARACTERS. 



Mrs. Clipper, a Widow. 

Kitty, her Daughter? 

Aunt Jemima Hopkins, a leetle inquisitive 

Mrs. Hortensia Fastone, very genteel. 

Dora, her Daughter. 

Katy Doolan, Irish Help. 

Scene. — Room in Mrs. Clippers House. Lounge, 
L. ; Chairs, c. ; Table and Ho eking -chair, Looking- 
glass, R. 

Enter Mrs. Clipper and Kitty, r. 

Mrs. C. But really, Kitty, I cannot afford it. 

Kitty. O, yes, you can, mother ; just this once. It's 
such a love of a bonnet ! it's so becoming ! and it only 
costs fifteen dollars. 

Mrs. C. Fifteen dollars ! Why, child, you are crazy ! 
T\ r e cannot afford to be so extravagaut. The income 
derived from the property your dear father left will only 
allow us to dress in the most economical manner. 

Kitty. But this bonnet is not extravagant. Dora 
8 113 



114 A LOVE OF A BONNET. 

Fastone wears a bonnet which cost twenty-five dollars, 
and her father has failed five or six times. I don't see 
why I can't have a new bonnet as well as that proud, 
stuck-up — 

Mrs. (X Hush, my child ! never speak ill of our 
neighbors because they dress better than we do. If 
they spend money foolishly, we should endeavor to use 
ours to better purpose. I am sure I should be glad to 
gratify you, but we have so many expenses. Your music 
lessons cost a great deal of money ; and your brother 
Harry, off at school, is really suffering for a new suit of 
clothes. I must send him some money to-day. 

Kilty. .0, he can wait ; he's only a boy ; and no one 
cares how he looks ; but young ladies must dress, or 
they are thought nothing of. O, you must let me have 
the bonnet, mamma ! 

Mrs. G. If you have this bonnet, Kitty, Harry must 
go without his new suit. 

Kitty. If you could just see it ! It's such a love of a 
bonnet ! Do let me run down and ask Miss Thompson 
to send it up for you to look at. 

Mrs. C. I've no objection to that ; and if you think 
you need it more than Harry does his new suit, why — 

Kitty. You'll let me have it. That's a good, dear 
mother. I knew you wouldn't refuse. I'll run to Miss 
Thompson's. I won't be gone long. I suppose I am 
selfish ; but then, mother, it's such a love of a bonnet. 

[Exit, l. 

Mrs. C. (Sits in rocking-chair.) Dear child, it is 
hard to refuse her ! But one should be made of money 
to keep up with the extravagant fashions of the day. 



A LOVE OF A BONNET. 115 

Enter Aunt Hopkins, r. 

Aunt H. Angelina, what on airth have them air 
Joneses got for dinner? I've sot and sot at that air 
front winder till I've got a crick in my back a tryin' to 
find out whether it's lamb or mutton. It's something 
roasted, anyhow. 

Mrs. C. Aunt Hopkins, you are very inquisitive ! 

Aunt H. Inquisitive ! Law sakes, do hear the child 
talk ! Neow, what harm kin there be in tryin' to find 
eout what your neighbors have got for dinner? I mean 
to put on my bunnet and run acrost and see. I know 
they've got apple dumplin's, for I see the hired gal throw 
the parin's out into the yard. 

Mrs. C. Run across ! Don't dream of such a thing ! 

Aunt H. "Well, I'm a goin' up stairs to git my specs 
and have another good look, anyhow ; for I'm jest dyin' to 
know whether it's lamb or mutton. Land sakes ! what's 
the use of livin', ef you can't know how other folks live? 

\_Exiti R. 

Mrs. C. Aunt Hopkins ! — She's gone ! Dear me, 
she does worry me terribly ! What will our neighbors 
think of us? 

Enter Katy Doolan, l. 

Katy. If you plase, mam, may I coome in? 

Mrs. G. Certainly, Katy. What's the matter? 

Katy. If you plase, mam, I have a letther ; and 
would you plase rade it for me? 

Mrs. C. (Takes letter.) Certainly, Katy. From 
your lover? 

Katy. Indade, mam, I have no lover. It's my cousin, 
mam. 



116 A LOVE OF A BONNET. 

Mrs. G. O, your cousin. (Opens letter.) " Light 
ov my sowl ! " Why, this cannot be your cousin. 

Katy. Indade, indade, it be, sure ! It's only the in- 
sinivatin' way he has, mam ! . 

Mrs. G. (Reads.) u Bewitchin' Katy ! and how are 
ye's, onyhow? I take my pin in hand to till ye's I am 
yurs, in good hi lth and sphirits ; and its hopin' ye's the 
same, truly ! The pulsitations uv my heart are batin' 
wid the love I bears ye's, darlin' Katy ! the fairest flow- 
er — niver mind the blot — that iver bloomed on the 
family tree uv Phil Doolan uv Tipperary, dead and gone 
this siven years, bliss his sowl, — and how are ye's? 
An' by the same token that I loves ye's much, I sind by 
the ixpriss, freight paid, a new bunnit, which my cousin 
Biddy Byan, for my dear love, have made for ye's, 
charmin' Katy Doolan ! Wear it nixt ye's heart ! And 
if ye's git it before this letther coomes to hand, ye's may 
know it is from 

Your ever sighin', 
Wid love for ye's dyin', 

Cornalius Ryan. 

P. S. If ye's don't resave this letther, sind me word 
uv mouth by the man who fetches the bunnit." That's 
a very loving epistle. 

Katy. Pistol, is it? Faith, I thought it was a 
letther. 

Mrs, C. And so it is ; and a very loving one ! Your 
cousin has sent you a new bonnet. 

Katy. Is it in the letther, mam ! 

Mrs. C. -It is coming by express. 

Katy. Sure, he might sind it in the letther, and save 
'expinse. What will I do? 






A LOVE OF A BONNET. 117 

Mrs. C. Wait patiently until the bonnet arrives. 

Katy. Will Cornalius coome wid it ? 

Mrs. C. I think not. The expressman will bring it. 

Katy. Sure, I don't want the ixprissman. It's Cor- 
nalius I want. 

Mrs. C. This cousin of yours seems very affectionate. 
Are you going to marry him some day? 

Katy. Some day? — yis, mam. He tould me, Would 
I? and I axed him, Yes. What will I do with the 
letther, mam? 

Mrs. C. Keep it with your treasures. It should be 
precious to you. 

Katy. Faith, thin, I'll put it in the savings bank with 
my money. I'm obliged to ye\s, Mrs. Clipper, mam. 
If you plase, what was that last in the letther? 

Mrs. C. " Your ever sighin', 

Wid love for ye's dyin', 
Cornalius Ryan." 

Katy. O, don't, ma'am ! Ye's make me blush wid 
the shame I fail. Och ! it's a quare darlin', wid all his 
sighin', is Cornalius Ryan ! Och, musha ! it's an illigant 
lad he is, onyhow ! [Exit, L. 

Mrs. C. So w r e are to have another new bonnet in 
the family ! Well, Katy is a good girl, and I hope will 
get a good husband, as well as a new bonnet. [_Exit, L. 

Enter Aunt Hopkins, r., with a bandbox. 

Aunt H. It's mutton ! I was determined to find eout, 
and I have ! I saw that air Jones boy a playin' in the 
street, and I asked him what his folks had got for dinner, 
and he said mutton ; and neow I'm satisfied on that air 
p'int. I wonder what's in this 'ere bandbox ! I saw that 



118 A LOVE OF A BONNET. 

express cart stop here, and the man said it was for Miss 
Kitty somebody ; of course, Angelina's darter. I do 
wonder what it is ! (Opens box,) Well, I declare ! A 
spic span new bunnet ! (Takes out a very large, gaudi- 
ly-trimmed bonnet.) And sich a bunnet ! Ribbons and 
lace, flowers and feathers ! Now that's jest what I call 
a tasty bunnet ! I mean to try it on. It'll jest suit my. 
complexion. Law T sakes ! here comes Kitty ! 'Twon't 
do to let her know I've been at her things ! (Puts bon- 
net bach into box, and places it behind the table.) 

Enter Kitty,, l. 

Kitty. O, aunt Hopkins! where's mother? 

Aunt H. Land sakes ! I don't know no more than 
the child unborn ! 

Kitty. Dear me! Here are Mrs. Fastone and Dora 
coming up the steps ! What shall I do ? 

Aunt H. Why, let 'em in, of course ! 

Kitty. Has my new bonnet come yet ? 

Aunt H. Indeed it has ! And sich a beauty ! 

Kitty. O, I'm so glad ! But where is it ? 

Aunt H. Down there behind the table. I hain't 
teched it ; only jest took a peep. 

Kitty. I'll let Miss Dora see that some people can 
dress as well as some other people. Aunt Hopkins, you 
must manage to draw attention to my new bonnet while 
the visitors are here, to give me an opportunity to 
show it. 

Aunt H. Why, I'll take it right eout the fust thing. 

Kitty. No, no ! that would be too abrupt. Manage 
to speak of bonnets ; but do not show it until they ask 
to see it. 



// 



ii 



A LOVE OP A BONNET. 1 1 9 

Aunt H. Well, I guess I know heow to do it gen- 
teelly. 

Enter Katy, l. 

Katy. Two ladies to see you, miss. (Crosses to R.) 

Kitty, Where's mother, Katy? 

Katy. Gone to the butcher's, miss. [Exit, R. 

Aunt H. Butcher's? Wal, I do hope she'll git some 
mutton, for the Joneses has it ; and we ought to be as 
genteel as our neighbors. 

Enter Mrs Fastoxe and Dora, l., very elegantly at- 

tired. 

Mrs. F. My dear child, how do you do? 

Kitty. (Shaking lianas with her, and afterwards with 
Dora.) I'm delighted to see you ! Hope you are quite 
well, and Dora. 

Mrs. F. Quite well — aren't you, Dora? 

Dora. Quite, mamma. 

Kitty. Pray be seated, ladies. (They sit on lounge.) 
Mrs. Hopkins, Mrs. Fastone, 

Aunt H. (Steps over and shakes hands.) Hope you 
are pretty well, ma'an\, and you, too, miss, though you 
do look awful delicate ! And how's your husband? He's 
a broker — ain't he? (Sits in rocking-chair, and keeps 
it in motion.) 

Mrs. F. Yes, Mrs. Hopkins, Mr. Fastone is a broker, 
engaged day after day in the busy vortex of fluctuating 
enterprises. 

Aunt H. Well, I never hearn tell of that business 
afore ; but I s'pose it's profitable, or you couldn't afford 
to dress so. Is that a silk or a poplin you've got on? 



120 A LOVE OF A BONNET. 

Kitty. {Brings her chair ; sits, c.) Aunt Hopkins ! — 
Mother has stepped out to make a call. 

Aunt H. No, she hain't ; she's only gone to the 
butcher's. 

Kitty. Aunt Hopkins ! — Mrs. Fastone, what is the 
news? 

Mrs. F. Well, really nothing. I am dying o£ .ennui, 
the world is so quiet ; no excitement to move the placid 
waters of fashionable society — is there, Dora? 

Dora. Nothing, mamma. 

Mrs. F. Nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to 
wear — is there, Dora? 

Dora. Nothing, mamma. 

Aunt H. Nothing to wear ! Yes, there's bunnets. 

Kitty. Aunt Hopkins ! — Mrs. Fastone, you are quite 
correct. 

Mrs. F. Mrs. Hopkins spoke of bonnets. I have 
been so disappointed ! Thompson had*\a perfect love of 
a bonnet that I had quite set my heart! upon for Dora ; 
but it is gone, and the poor child i& almost broken- 
hearted — ain't you, Dora? 

Dora. Quite, mamma. 

Kitty. I am very sorry, for .bonnets! are so hard to 
find. I have been very much perplexed/ about them my- 
self. They are so very commonplace ; /no air of refine- 
ment about them. \ 

Mrs. F. None, whatever — is there, J)ora? 

Dora. None, mamma. ^ 

Kitty. I've just had a new one sent home, but it 
doesn't suit me. 

Aunt H. Why, Kitty, how you talk ! It's a regular 
beauty ! 






A LOVE OF A BONNET. 121 

Kitty. Aunt Hopkins ! — It is not what I wanted, but 
Thompson said it was the most stylish she had. 

Mrs. F. Thompson ! Did you get it of Thompson ? 

Kitty. Yes, all my bonnets come from Thompson. 

Airs. F. Do let me see it ! 

Aunt H. (Jumps up.) I'll show it to you right off. 
It's an eligunt bunnet. (Gets bandbox.) 
\ Kitty. Aunt Hopkins ! 

Aunt H. Neow don't aunt Hopkins me ! for I'm going 
to show 'em jest how it looks on yer ; set still ; for if 
there's anything I pride myself on, it's showin' off a 
bunnet. (Stands behind Kitty, puts the bonnet on her 
head, and ties it.) There ! ain't that a beauty? 

Mrs. F. Why! what a hor — a handsome bonnet! 
Did you ever see anything like it, Dora? 

Dora. Never, mamma ! 

Aunt H. That's the style, marm. 

Mrs. F. Really ! I want to know ! And this is 
Thompson's most stylish bonnet ! Really, how the fash- 
ions do change ! Did you ever, Dora ! 

Dora. Never, mamma ! 

Kitty. (Aside.) I do believe they are laughing! 
Aunt Hopkins, I cannot get it off! You've tied it in a 
hard knot ! 

3Irs. F. It's very becoming — isn't it, Dora? 

Dora. O, very, mamma. 

Mrs. F. (Aside to Dora.) — What a horrid fright ! 

Dora. Frightful, mamma ! 

Mrs. F. I believe we must be moving, for I must 
hurry to Thompson's and order just such a bonnet for 
Dora. Good day. You have such a charming taste — 
hasn't she, Dora? 



122 A LOYE OF A BONNET. 

Dora. Charming, mamma ! (They bow , and exeunt, 
L., with their handkerchiefs to their mouths, endeavoring 
to conceal their laughter.) 

Kitty. Good day. Call again. — The hateful things ! 
They are laughing at me. What ails this bonnet. (Goes 
to glass.) Goodness gracious ! what a fright ! This is 
not my bonnet. Aunt Hopkins, you've ruined me ! I 
shall be the laughing-stock of the whole neighborhood. 
(Tears off the bonnet.) 

Enter Mrs. Clipper, r. 

Mrs. C. Have the Fastoues gone? 

Kitty. I hope so. O, mother, send aunt Hopkins 
home ; she's made me look ridiculous ! 

Aunt H. Well, I declare ! this comes of trying to 
please folks ! 

Mrs. C. Is that your love of a bonnet, Kitty? 

Kitty. No, indeed ! Aunt Hopkins, where did you 
get this hateful thing? 

Aunt H. Out of that bandbox. 

Kitty. (Takes up the cover.) It's marked u Miss Katy 
Doolan." You've made a pretty mess of it ! 

Aunt H. Sakes alive ! It's the hired gal's ! Well, 
I never ! 

Mrs. C. But where's the bonnet you sent from Thomp- 
son's? 

Katy. (Outside.) 0, murder ! that iver I should say 
this day ! 

Enter Katy, r., holding in her hand an elegant bonnet.) 

The mane, stingy blackgurd has sint me this whisp of 
a buunet, that I'll niver git on my head at all at all ! 






A LOVE OF A BONNET. 123 

N Kitty. That's my bonnet ! 

Katy. Is it, indade? and perhaps ye's be afther claim- 
ing the letther Cornalius Ryan sint wid it. 

Mrs. C. No, no, Katy ; there's a little mistake here. 
This is your bonnet. 

Katy. Faith, now, isn't that a darling, jist ! I'll 
wear it to church to-morrow, sure. 

v Kitty. Put it on now, Katy ; and then take this wisp 
of a bonnet, as you call it, to Miss Thompson, with my 
compliments, and tell her I have decided not to keep it. 

Mrs. C. Why, Kitty, I thought your heart was set 
upon having it. 
y Kitty. So it was, mother ; but I shall never dare to 
wear it, after the ridiculous appearance I have just 
made. It's too fine for me. My conscience gave me a 
little twinge as I was coming home. Send Harry the 
money for his new suit. My old bonnet is quite good 
enough for me. 

Aunt H. Neow that's what I call a self-denvin' gal. 
I'll fix it up for -you ; for if there's anything I pride my- 
self on doin', it's fixing up old bunnets. 

Kitty. And trying on new ones ! No, I thank you, 
aunt Hopkins. Hereafter I'll look after my bonnets 
myself. I think our acquaintance with Mrs. Fastone 
will be broken off by this adventure ; and so I will make 
a merit of necessity, abandon fashionable society, and be 
more humble in my demeanor and in my dress. 

Mrs. C. Ah, my child, you will be better satisfied 
with your decision, as you grow older, and see how friv- 
olous are the demands of fashion, and how little happiness 
can be obtaiued by lavish display. And I think this 
little adventure, though a severe lesson, will be far more 
profitable than the possession of that "love of a bonnet." 



{ 



A PRECIOUS PICKLE. 

(for female characters only.) 



CHARACTERS. 



Miss Rebecca Pease. 

Mrs. Gabble. 

Jenny Frost, ) 

Bessie Snow, i Cit ^ & irls on a vacation 

Sadie Beak, J in the count, > 

Sissy Gabble. 

Juno, Miss Pease's colored help. 

Scene. — Miss Pease's best room. Table, c, back. 
Chairs, R. and L. Sofa, l. Rocking-chair, c. Chair 
directly in front of the table. 

Enter, l., Juno ; costume, calico dress, handkerchief about 
her head in shape of a turban, broom in her hand. 

Juno. Bress my soul ! Nebber see, in de whole co'se 
ob my life, sich a galloping set as dem are city gals — 
T, ebber ! For all de worP, jes like a flock ob sheep. 
SnuL • §SSy dey ?°> frum de cellar to de top ob de 

house pell-met^ inter de barn. Skipterty shoo, ober 

de fields ; skerspfesh into de brook ; don't keer for miffm 
nor nobody. Cap't keep de chairs straight, nor de flo' 

125 



126 A PRECIOUS PICKLE. 

clean, nor nuffin. (Looks off, r.) Now, now, now, jes 
look a dar! jes look a dar ! See 'em scootin' rounds 
chasm' dat are poor orphanless calf, what ain't got nc 
nmdder. Never did see nuffin like it, nebber. (Sweeps 
violently.) 

Jenny. (Outside, R.) Ha, ha, ha! If you don't; 
stop, girls, I shall die. 

Bessie. (Outside, R.) Ha, ha, ha! O, dear, there 
goes my hat ! 

Sadie. (Outside, r.) Ha, ha, ha ! Do see him 
jump ! [All three enter, r., laughing. 

, Jenny. O, isn't this splendid ! A country life for me. 
yj/*>^ Bessie. It's glorious ! I could live here forever. 

Sadie. So could I. No more city life for me. 

Juno. Bres my soul ! Goin' fur to stay here forebber ! 
I'll jes' pack up my jewelry, and slope, for sartin'. 

Jenny. Ah, there's Juno. O, Juno, isn't it most 
dinner-time ? I'm so hungry ! 

Bessie. So am I — ravenous. 

Sadie. I'm starving ; slowly, but surely, starving. 

Juno. Dinner! Why, bress my soul ! yer hain't got 
yer breakfast digesticated yet. Well, I nebber, in de 
whole co'se ob my life, seed sich eaters — nebber. Six 
biscuit, four b'iled eggs apiece, and chicken ; chicken by 
de dozen for dar breakfast; and now want dar dinner! 
Bress my soul ! Doesn't yer git nuffin to eat in de city? 

Sadie. O, yes, plenty ; but not such biscuits as Juno 
makes. 

Jenny and Bessie. Never, never ! 

Jenny. And eggs, girls ! None cooked as Juno cooks 
them. 

Bessie and Sadie. Never, never ! 



A PRECIOUS PICKLE. 



127 



Bessie. And chickens ! never so nice as those broiled 
by Jnno. 
. Jenny and Sadie. Never, never ! 

Juno. Doesn't vers, honies? {Grinning.) Dat's 
mean ; dat's raai mean. Well, poor dears, I s'pose vers 
is hungry. Now you jes' wait and see what Juno can 
find for a lunch. [Exit, L. 

Jenny. " A little flattery, now and then, is relished 
by the wisest men." 

Bessie. And the darkest of our sex, Jenny. 

Sadie. Yes ; and "a soft answer turneth away 
wrath." O, ain't we having a splendid time, girls? 

Jenny. How kind of our parents, after eight months' 
hard study, to send us to this delightful place ! 

ant nothing 
nothi 




128 



A PRECIOUS PICKLE. 



Jenny. Why, who in the world is this ? 

Sadie. What do you want, little girl ? 

Sissy. Mith Peath, if you pleath, if, if — Mith Peath, 
to home, my mother thed — my mother thed." What did 
my mother thed ? O, my mother thed, if Mith Peath is 
to home, to give Mith Peath her com — her com — to 
give Mith Peath her com — 

Jenny. Her compliments? 

Sissy. Yith, ma'am, I geth tho ; and tell Mith Peath, 
the thent her thome of her pickleth. 

Sadie and Bessie. Pickles ! O, you dear little thing ! 

Jenny. O, isn't she a darling! (They all crowd 
round Sissy, take off her bonnet, kissrqnd hug her.) Isn't 
she splendid? 

I'll, take the pail, little girl. 

' pail behind her.) Yith marm ; I geth 
I muthn't give it to nobody but 

the cover, little girl. The 



never thpoil. 
you like 



A PRECIOUS PICKLE. 129 

Sissy. No, I don't. I want Mith Peath. 
. Bessie. Or some splendid gum drops? 
Sissy. No. I want Mith Peath. 

Enter Miss Pease, l. 

Miss P. And here she is, Sissy Gabble. What have 
you for me? (The girls fall back in confusion, and 
whisper together.) 

Sissy. Thome pickleth, Mith Peath, my mother thent 
you, with her com — her com — her com — 

Miss P. Her compliments, Sissy. I understand. I'm 
very much obliged to her for sending them, and to you, 
Sissy, for bringing them so carefully. Here, Juno ! 

Enter Juno, l. 

Juno. Yes, missis. Why, bress my soul ! if dar ain't 
Sissy Gabble ! Come right here, yer dear chile. 

Miss P. Take her to the kitchen, Juno. Perhaps you 
can fiud a cake for her. 

Juno. Guess I can, missis, sure for sartin. Come, 
Sissy Gabble, come right along wid Juno. 

Sissy. Thay, Juno, who ith them? (Pointing to girls.) 

JunOo Why, bress yer soul, dem ar's de young ladies 
from de city, on dar vex — vex — on dar vexation. O, 
Sissy, dar dreiful sweet. 

Sissy. Thweet, Juno? I thpothe tho ; they've got 
thuch loth of candy. But they didn't git my pail, tho ! 

Juno. Come along to de kitchen. Come. 

[Exeunt Juno and Sissy, l. The girls 
gather about Miss Pease. 

Jenny. O, Miss Pease, I'm so glad Mrs. Gabble sent 
you those pickles, I'm so fond of them ! 
9 



130 A PRECIOUS PICKLE. 

Bessie. Yes, Miss Pease ; they're so nice ! 

Sadie. O, they're splendid ! Do give us a taste. 

Hiss P. Stop, stop, young ladies. While I cannot 
but be grateful to Mrs. Gabble for her kindness, I wish 
it had taken some other shape. I have long been of the 
opinion that pickles are unwholesome, and have never 
allowed them to be placed upon my table. And I am 
sure I should be disobeying the instructions I received 
from your parents — to provide you only wholesome 
food — did I permit you to taste them. For the present, 
I shall leave them here. (Places pail on the table.) If 
you believe I have your interest at heart, you will not 
touch that which I have condemned. I know I can 
trust you. [Exit, l. 

Bessie. Well, I declare ! The mean old thing ! 

Jenny. It's too bad ! Nothing but blasted hopes in 
this world ! 

Sadie. Well, I don't care, I'm a going to have one of 
those pickles, if I die for it. 

Jenny. Why, Sadie Bean, you don't mean it ! 

Sadie. Yes, I do. I know they are wholesome, and 
my mother always allows me to eat them. 

Bessie. I wouldn't touch one for the world. How im- 
polite it would be, after Miss Pease has forbidden it ! 

Sadie. No ; she didn't forbid it. She said, if we 
thought she had our interest at heart, we wouldn't touch 
the pail. Now I don't believe she has, when she wants 
to deprive us of such a luxury. I'm determined to have 
a pickle. 

yAJenny. You are wrong, Sadie, to think of such a 
thmg. A Precious Pickle you'll make. (Sits on sofa.) 

Bessie. Nothing would tempt me. (Sits on sofa.) 
How can you, Sadie ? 



L 



A PRECIOUS PICKLE. 131 

Sadie. Pooh ! Cowards ! It's just as easy as cro- 
quet, when you make up your mind. {Lifts cover, and 
takes out fickle.) A Precious Pickle. I'll taste, Jenny. 
Ain't they beauties? 

Jenny. Quick, quick, Sadie ; somebody's coming ! 

Sadie. Dear me ! {Claps on cover, runs and sits on 
sofa between Jenny and Bessie.) 

Enter Juno, l. 

Juno. Press my soul ! dars Missis Gabble a runnin 
up de walk like all possessed. Speck her house afire, 
sure for sartin. [Exit, r. 

Sadie. (Tasting pickle.) O, ain't it nice! Bessie, 
run and get one. 

Bessie. No, indeed ; I shall do no such thing. 

Jenny. O, Sadie, I wouldn't believe you could do 
such a thing. 

Sadie. O, pshaw ! It's all envy ; you know it is. 

Enter, n., Juno, followed by Mrs. Gabble, who wears a 
calico dress, has her sleeves rolled tip, her apron thrown 
over her head, and has altogether the appearance of 
having just left the wash-tub. 

Mrs. G. Yes, Juno, poor Mr. Brown has shuffled off 
this mortal — what's its name? (Looks at girls) O, 
how do you do? I don't know how much he's worth, 
but they do say — Why, Juno, you've got a new cali- 
co — Fine day, young ladies. — They do say — Wei 
there, I oughtn't to speak of it. Got your washu 
Juno? I've been all day at that tub ; and- 
Miss Pease? I can't stop a minute ; so don'ti 
sit down. (Sits in rocking-chair, and rocks -J 




182 A PRECIOUS PICKLE. 

Juno. Yes, Missy Gabble, Missy Pease to home. 
Send her right up, sure for sartin. Bress my soul, bow 
that woman do go on, for sartin. [Exit, l. 

Mrs. G. Ah, poor Mrs. Brown, with all them young 
ones. I wonder where my Sis is. 

Jenny. I think she's in the kitchen, Mrs. Gabble. 

Mrs. G. You don't say so? Stuffing herself, I'm 
sure. And poor Mr. Brown lying dead in the next 
house — and there's my washing waiting for soap — and 
there's Mrs. Jones hasn't sent my ironing-board home ; 
and mercy knows how I'm to get along without it. 

Enter Miss Pease, l. During the dialogue between Miss 
Pease and Mrs. G., Sadie slyly eats her pickle, offer- 
' ing it to Jenny and Bessie, who at first shake their 
heads, afterwards taste ; the pickle is passed among 
them, and devoured before the conclusion of the con- 
versation. 

Miss P. Ah, Mrs. Gabble ! I'm glad to see you. 
(Takes chair and sits beside her.) 
Mrs. G. And poor Brown is gone ! 
Miss P. Mr. Brown dead? This is sad news. 
Mrs. G. I should think it was — and there's Skillet, 
the butcher, chopped off his thumb — and Miss Pearson 
fell down stairs and broke her china sugar-bowl — sp'ilt 
the whole set. As I told my husband, these expensive 
dishes never can be matched — and speaking of matches, 
^Mrs. Thorpe is going to get a divorce. Jest think of it ! 
her going into Carter's shop this morning. She 
{hat pink muslin he gave her for a birthday pres- 
kins has got a new lot of them, only a shilling 
tpeaking of yards, old Cooper tumbled into that 




A PRECIOUS PICKLE. 133 

miserable well in bis back yard this morning. They 
pulled him out — speaking of pulling, Miss Tibbet was 
in to the dentist's this morning for a new set of teeth, 
and 7— Have you seen my Sis? 

Miss P. O, yes. She's in the kitchen with Juno. 
And, speaking of Sissy, reminds me that I must thank 
you for sending me — 

Mrs. G. My pickles? Yes. Well, I'm glad you got 
'em. But I didu't have a bit of good luck with 'em. 
And, speaking of pickles, O, Miss Pease, that, villain, 
Smith, the grocer, has been taken up. He's going to be 
huu<r. Nothing can sav.e him. 

Miss P. Mr. Smith arrested! For what, pray? 

Mrs. G. P'isoning ! Jest think of it ! And he a 
deacon in the church, and has such a splendid span of 
horses, and such an elegant beach wagon. I declare, 
the last time he took us to the beach I nearly died eating 
soft-shelled crabs ; and my husband tumbled overboard, 
and Mr. Brown got sunstruck ; and now he's gone ! 
Dear me, dear me ! And my washing ain't out yet. 

Miss P. But tell me, Mrs. Gabble, what is it about 
the poisoning? 

Mrs. G. Why, he or somebody else has been putting 
prussic acid in his vinegar, just at the time, too, when 
everybody's making pickles ; and there's no end of the 
p'isoning he will have to answer for. Mrs. Jewel's just 
sent for the doctor, and Mrs. Poor's been dreadful all 
day, and Dr. Bald top's flying round from house to house ; 
and, O, dear — there's my washing ! Who'll be the next 
victim nobody knows, I'm sure. 

Sadie. (Jumping up.) O, dear ! O, dear ! Send for 
the doctor, quick ! I'm dying, I know I am, {Buns 
across stage and sinks into chair, R.) 



134 A PRECIOUS PICKLE. 

Miss P. (Running to her.) Bless me, child, what 
ails you? 

Sadie. I don't know ; I can't tell. The doctor, 
quick ! 

Mrs. G. Deary me, she's took sudden, just for all the 
world like Susan Richie. 

Jenny. (Jumping up.) Water, water!" Give me 
some water ! I shall die if I don't have some water. 
(Runs down and sinks into chair, L.) 

Mrs. G. (Jumping up and running to her.) Gracious 
goodness ! here's another ! It's something dreadful, de- 
pend upon it. When folks is took sudden — 

Bessie. (Jumping up.) O, my throat ! I'm burning 
up ! Give me some ipecac. Quick, quick, quick ! (Runs 
round stage, then sinks into chair, c.) 

Mrs. G. There goes another ! It's something dread- 
ful, depend on it. 

Miss P. What does this mean ? Here, Juno, Juno ! 
Quick ! 

Enter Juno, L. 

Juno. Here I is, Missy Pease. 

Sadie. Run for the doctor, quick, Juno ! 

Juno. {Running, R.) Bress my soul ! I'll fetch him. 

Jenny. No, no ! Get me some water — quick ! 

Juno. (Running l.) To be sure, honey ; to be sure. 

Bessie. No, no, Juno ! some ipecac, or a stomach pump. 

Juno. Pump, pump ! Want de pump? I'll fotch it, 
I'll fotch it. Bress my soul, I'll fetch something. [Exit, l. 

Mrs. G. Well, if this ain't drefful ! — washing-day, 
too — and the undertaker's jest as busy as he can be — 



A PRECIOUS PICKLE. 135 

there never was so much immortality in this place, never. 
Poor critters ! poor critters ! 

Miss P. Girls, what does this mean? 

Sadie. O, Miss Pease, such agony ! 

Bessie. O, dear, what will become of me? 

Jenny. O, this dreadful parching in the throat ! 

Mrs, G. O, I kuow it, I know it. I told my husband 
that something dreadful was a goin' to happen when he 
sold that colt yesterday. 

Miss P. Sadie, what is the meaning of this. Your 
pulse is regular, your head cool, and your tongue clear. 

Sadie O, Miss Pease, it's those dreadful pickles. 

Mrs. G. Yes, indeed, it is a drefful pickle — and so 
sudden, jest for all the world like poor Mr. Brown's sud- 
den took, and these always seem to end fatally at some 
time or other — Dear me, dear me, and my w T ash — 

Miss P. Pickles ! Have you disobeyed me? 

Sadie. I couldn't help it, Miss Pease ; they looked so 
tempting. But I only took one. 

Bessie. Aud I only tasted that. 

Jenny. I only had one good bite. 

Sadie. And Ave are poisoned ! 

Bessie. O, dear ! poisoned ! 

Jenny. Yes, poisoned ! 

Miss P. How, poisoned? 

Sadie. Mrs. Gabble says the vinegar was poisoned 
by Mr. Smith. 

Mrs. G. Smith — vinegar — p'isoned ! The land 
sakes ! And I a good church member — and my wash- 
ing — and poor Mr. Brown, tew. Well, I never! I'd 
have you to know that I bought no vinegar of Mr. Smith. 
1 made my own. 



136 A PRECIOUS PICKLE. 

Sadie. And your pickles were Dot poisoned? 
Mrs. G. No, indeed. Never did such a thing in 
my life. 

Sadie. O, dear ! I'm so glad ! {Jumping up.) 
Bessie. I won't have the ipecac. (Bises.) 
Jenny. My throat is decidedly better. (Bises.) 

Enter Juno with a pail of water and a dipper. 

Juno. Bress my soul, de pump was fastened down so 
tight couldn't git it up. Here's a pail of water; if dat 
won't do, I'll git a tub. 

Miss P. No matter, Juno. I think 'twill not be needed. 
Young ladies, I am very sorry — 

Sadie. Please, Miss Pease, do not speak of it. I 
alone am to blame for transgressing your command, for 
such we should consider it, as you are for the present our 
guardian. Forgive me, and in future I will endeavor to 
control my appetite, and comply with your wishes. 

Mrs. G. Well, I declare, I don't see the harm in 
eating pickles. My girls eat their weight in 'em, and 
they're just as sweet-tempered as — 

Miss P. Their mother. Mrs. Gabble, it is not a 
question of harm, but of obedience, here. You see, the 
young ladies accept me as fheir guardian, and I only for- 
bid that which I think their parents would not approve. 

Mrs. G. And there's my washing iu the suds ! 
Where's my Sis. 

Enter Sissy Gabble, l., with a large slice of bread, cov- 
ered with molasses. 
Sissy. Here I ith, mother. Mith Peath thed I might 
have thumtliin, and I like bread and 'latheth. 



A PRECIOUS PICKLE. 137 

Juno, Brcss my soul ! dat are chile jest runnin' over 
with sweetness, sure For sartin. 

Mrs. G. Yes ; and the 'lasses running all over her 
clothes ! Come, Sissy, let's go home. I'm sorry, Miss 
Pease, you don't like pickles; and I'm sorry, young 
ladies, they disagree with you. -'And I'm sorry, Miss 
Pease, I left my washing. 

Miss P. Now don't be sorry at all, Mrs. Gabble. 
I'm always glad to see you. Your gift was well-in- 
tended, and the young ladies have suffered no harm, 
perhaps received a wholesome lesson. 

Sadie. I think we have. I shall be very careful 
what I touch. 

Jenny. O, dear ! such a fright ! I shall never get 
over it. 
-Bessie. O, Sadie, you thought it was so nice ! 

Jenny. Yes, such a Precious Pickle ! 

Mrs. G. Of course it was. My pickles are the best 
made in town — precious nice, I tell you. Mrs. Doo- 
little always sends in for 'em when she has company ; and 
the minister says they're awful soothing arter sermon. 

Sadie. O, certainly ; I've no doubt of it. But I've 
found that stolen fruit is not the sweetest, and that mis- 
chievous fingers make trouble when they clutch what 
mine sought, and made a Precious Pickle. 

[Curtain/] 



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